The Mistakes That Lead Me To You
by passionatelysimple
Summary: Sometimes the person that knocked you up isn't the one you end up with. Mostly AU, except for the pregnancy. Rachel/Quinn, Rachel/Puck Friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This idea has been annoying me for the past couple weeks and I tried to fight it, but alas my will power isn't that strong. So here it is. I haven't written anymore, I'm not even sure if I'm going to - though a Rachel that drinks warm beer in Puck's mom's garage rocks my socks with her awesome - I guess we'll see if anybody is reading this first. Enjoy :)_

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**The Mistakes That Lead Me To You**

**One**

Rachel watched enviously as Noah Puckerman popped the top off another beer bottle with his lighter, carelessly letting the tiny metal cap fall to the cemented floor of the garage. The girl had spent the better part of a year failing at perfecting that particular skill, ever since she saw him do it seven months ago: the date of their first ever coupling for honorary bro's night.

It had started because of an audition. Most things did where Rachel Berry was concerned because her big dreams of her name on a marquee sign in the bright lights on Broadway would have it no other way. She was auditioning for the role of Maureen in a local community theatre production of_ Rent_ and she feared she wouldn't be able to fully grasp the character without experiencing feelings of rebellion for herself first hand.

Noah suggested getting drunk—which was his customary answer for everything, since he was always trying to get in her pants because she was a hot looking Jew and he just couldn't help it—but Rachel refused to attend Noah's regular bro's night on Saturday with all the guys. Usually, he would've just stopped trying to help after that but Rachel was his best friend, had been for as long as they could remember.

They're parents had been good friends since they were young, well, just his mom, since Noah's dad hadn't ever shown up for anything, least of all to the Synagogue. At first, they were just dragged along by Rachel's two gay dads and his mom, when they conversed over lunch after Temple was over, but after a while Rachel took it upon herself to make them friends. She had said it would be a beneficial endeavor for both of them to make these Saturday lunches somewhat tolerable by mutual friendship. He agreed to get her to stop talking and things just escalated from there until she was the first number he called when his dad left.

"Berry, stop looking at me like that. It's not my fault you have no hand-eye coordination," Noah ordered before opening another bottle to hand to her.

Rachel's eyes narrowed dangerously to the point that the black sweatshirt he had on looked like a pin-pick against his tan skin. Noah just looked on, somewhat nervously, as he ran his left hand over his practically shaven off Mohawk, his brown eyes blinking rapidly in wait for the explosion.

"I resent that, Noah! You know very well my hand-eye coordination is above par. I play the piano, I am sufficient at playing the guitar and I beat you all the time at every video game you own! The only reason I can't open the bottle with your lighter must be because of your inadequate explanation on how it's done. Furthermore—"

"Jeez, I like you better when you're drunk. You're a normal person when you're blitzed and stop calling me, Noah. How many times do I have to tell you—"

"That you prefer to be called Puck because you don't want to be associated with some pansy that built a boat to save the giraffes," interrupted Rachel with a slight sigh as she took a sip of her beer. "I remember, I just don't care. Your given name is an important part of your identity and while I'm forced to tolerate your use of multiple names for me, because you refuse to see reason, I will not participate in such an act—"

"Stop, please. You're ruining my buzz," he whined in a way only he thought was manly.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Fine, lets play video games. You have that shooting game out here, right?"

"_Duck Hunt_, Berry. _Duck Hunt_. We've been over this a thousand times. Do you just do it to torture me?" Noah groaned, almost sounding like he'd been fatally wounded.

"Like you, with your sexual innuendos to get in my pants?" Rachel asked, the amusement in her eyes dulled down by the haze of intoxication. "But to answer your question, yes. What else am I going to do for entertainment when I'm sitting on a lawn chair in your garage with only a faulty twelve-inch sometimes colour television and a cooler full of melted ice and lukewarm beer? I must say this is the worst bro's night you've organized thus far."

Rachel took a sip of her beer, waiting for him to respond. She knew the moment she got there something was up. They'd only be in the garage if Noah had something to say that he didn't want his mother to hear. Unfortunately, it took a while for him to get to the point, something that annoyed her greatly, as she enjoyed the blunt and honest approach herself. Rachel was just lucky that dressing in jeans and her favourite gold star hoodie, instead of her usual short skirts, made it easier to discourage his advances because she'd be freezing right now.

"Yeah, well, I forgot about it until you called me. I think it's pretty good for the fifteen minutes I had."

She rolled her eyes again—a go to reaction when faced with her best friend—before draining the last of her beer with an embellished gulp. She may not have got the part—apparently she was too young which was a gross exaggeration since the woman that got the role had to be over forty—but Rachel's ability to hold her alcohol and even tolerate the cheapest beer from _7-Eleven_ had drastically improved.

"What, too busy deep cleaning another woman's pool to remember me?" she murmured sarcastically while retrieving another beer from the cooler between them.

"No," he growled and when his fists clenched at his sides, Rachel placed the bottle down on the cement next to her foot so she could turn to face him.

"What's going on?" she asked softly. "It's not your dad is it?"

Noah shook his head, still looking straight ahead at his front yard. His sister's bike was sprawled across the sun-scorched lawn under the faulty streetlight that would periodically flash on and off, illuminating the neon reflectors on the bike's handlebars. They were surrounded by an eerie silence, that was always somewhat comforting, until the neighbours dog started barking at shadows that skittered along the ground with the moon. Rachel just took in the lackluster scenery and waited; it was all she could do. If she pushed anymore they'd be out there all night. It already happened once and her chiropractor had made a fortune fixing her posture after she spent hours uncomfortably slumped in a lawn chair. Never again.

"I slept with, Quinn," he finally answered and Noah was determined not to look at her because he didn't want to see her reaction.

Rachel was always disapproving of his 'older' conquests, but only enough to comment sarcastically at their expense. The ones from school she was a lot less lenient on and she usually lectured him for hours about how self-esteem issues in teenage girls were directly related to being promiscuous. This time though, with Quinn Fabray, well, it would definitely be worse than that—a whole lot worse.

"What?" she all but growled.

Her voice was almost unrecognizable and he swallowed as much beer as he could.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _Thanks to all those that reviewed. Since the comments for my other story have been tapering off as of late, I've been feeling kind of uninspired. The encouragement for this story was the motivation I needed to force myself to write again, so I posted this a lot earlier than I would've otherwise. Thanks again!_

**Two**

Noah Puckerman was pretty much desperate. Like he'd suspected, his confession during bro's night, didn't go over very well with his slightly insane—albeit functional—best friend.

It wasn't his fault, really it wasn't. When he agreed to be friends with Rachel Berry, he was like six years old. How was he supposed to know that when she grew up she'd want girls just like him? They were bros, so when she confessed to him that she had a crush on Quinn Fabray, he treated the situation as such. Guys—well, except for Finn—didn't make a big deal out of stuff like that. As it turned out, Rachel was a lot like Finn—or Finn was a lot like Rachel, which actually made more sense—and now she wasn't talking to him.

Puck had tried everything. Leaving voicemails, emails, buying her stuffed animals with remorseful sayings stitched into their stomachs, even singing Christina Aguilera songs outside of her window in the dead of night so nobody at school, that happened to be passing by, would know it was him. But still, nothing.

Berry had even ditched bros night, which was like sacrilegious—seriously, she drew up a contract with rules and everything—and his mother had started in on the Jewish Guilt soon after that. If he had to hear one more sad sigh about how she missed Rachel or how Rachel would've been able to understand the significance of Chuck and Sarah uniting as a couple, he was going to murder someone.

So, he was on his way to the home base of Homo-Explosion. She was always on him to join that stupid club and Puck was hoping that embracing his inner dancing queen would at least be enough for a face-to-face.

Surprisingly, there was no glitter on the walls or people rain-dancing to Elton John. It was just a normal classroom with a piano and these giant risers against the back wall. The members of the club—well, there were only five of them so it was more of a gathering—were standing in a line singing about a boat. When Rachel pushed that wheelchair kid towards him, he shook his head and stepped out of the way to allow the kid to whiz by into the hall.

"Jeez, babe. Vehicular Manslaughter, really?"

Rachel stopped with the ridiculous dance moves and turned to look at him, hands on her hips in her patented indignant pose.

"I'd hardly call it vehicular, Noah," she scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "Besides, a murder rap at this point of my career would be incredibly hard to overcome without the fame and monetary backing Broadway will eventually grant me."

Puck turned to watch the kid wheel himself back into the room with a disgruntled look on his face. Wheels made a show of glaring at Rachel in annoyance and parking himself beside that stuttering Asian girl before Puck thought of a comeback.

"He's on wheels, isn't he?" Puck replied with a smug smirk that only served to infuriate Rachel even more.

The Diva huffed in annoyance and Puck had to stop himself from laughing at the scared faces in the room at hearing Rachel's rant on murder. He had a rep to protect, after all.

"Well, you can leave now," the girl went on, completely oblivious to the bodies around her inching away to safety.

Puck shook his head and walked further into the room. "No can do, Berry. I haven't auditioned yet."

That curly haired teacher that had thus far served as background scenery—Puck thought he might've been the Spanish guy—seemed to perk up at the announcement. He clapped his hands together in this creepy overly enthusiastic way before walking towards him.

"Another audition, this is perfect. We've been looking for a leading man. Nobody quite has the right chemistry with Rachel yet, but you already seem to be friends so this will work out perfectly."

Puck turned to survey the rest of the group. Obviously wheels wouldn't work and that gay kid he threw in the dumpster every morning was there beside that girl that was named after the car she was conceived in. He could see why the teacher was desperate, Rachel was awesome and the choices for a leading man, we're, well, not.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll have all the chemistry you need," Puck murmured, raising his eyebrows up and down Rachel's way.

"Mr. Schue," Rachel started, taking a couple steps forward with her face pinched in annoyance, "I must object. Noah has no leading man potential. He has no regard for the feelings of the other performers around him and I can't work with somebody that cannot be there for me during my times of emotional vulnerability on stage. We are just an impossibility for compatibility."

"Don't you have no regard for the other performers around you?" the gay kid scoffed but quickly stepped behind _Toyota_—no that wasn't right—when he received glares from Puck and Rachel for his comment.

Schuester sighed and turned to look at Rachel pleadingly. "Can we just give him a chance? We don't have enough members as it is and we need all the help we can get to get enough members for Invitationals."

Rachel reluctantly nodded and Puck smirked victoriously. "Come on, Berry, you know you can't resist this. I have the perfect song for us to sing."

She rolled her eyes and pushed passed him to walk towards her backpack resting on the risers. Rachel quickly pulled out some paper and came stomping back, shoving half of the sheets into his chest.

"No, this is the perfect song to sing. It will prove to me that you have the emotional fortitude to be my equal on the stage," she explained with a smug smile, just challenging him to disagree. "You still want to audition?"

He looked at her for a moment longer before looking down at the sheets in his hands. This was apparently what she wanted for penitence and Puck just wanted this nightmare to end. He quickly scanned the lyrics and took in the title, looking up at her incredulously.

"Really, Berry?"

She just shrugged and turned towards the piano guy to signal him to begin playing. The tune started and Puck looked over at her a couple bars before the first verse.

"If I sing this, you'll talk to me?" he hissed, deciding to ignore the wide eyes gazing at them as their audience began to recognize the song.

Rachel turned and smirked in a way that was entirely too familiar for his liking before shrugging. "I'm not sure yet, but it will get you closer than you were yesterday."

Sighing, he looked down at the sheet of paper again and with great reluctance sang, "Everyday is so wonderful, then suddenly, it's hard to breath…"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _Thanks so much to those that reviewed. I really do like hearing anything at all about how the story's being received. It makes it easier to know what to write next, since this story isn't really planned out at all. So, if you want to suggest some things, by all means, have at it. Enjoy!_

**Three**

Quinn hurried from her last class towards her locker, books pressed into the front of her cheer uniform with only one of the straps of her backpack hanging off her shoulder. It was times like these that Quinn Fabray loved being on top. She liked how people parted for her when she walked down the halls, hugging their lockers while their eyes tracked her every move.

It didn't matter how they looked at her—though the stares usually fluctuated somewhere between lust, awe and envy—because their gazes were just a magnification of the attention she was looking for. It made her feel important, reinforcing the fact that in the grand scheme of things, she was significant and Quinn would seek after that feeling as long as it was available.

Of course, she'd rather not have to deal with making small talk—basically putting the effort in to reap the rewards of other's enthrallment—and giving people she really didn't care about the time of day wasn't really of interest to her.

Luckily, there weren't many obstacles that her status couldn't handle. People rarely made waves to change their position in life and high school was no different, especially in Lima, Ohio. In this town, people were just content to hang on to what they had and as long as they weren't sinking, they'd never fight for something better.

Quinn wasn't one to be content with mediocrity, though. There were always some people that had more drive than the rest—it was just how society worked—the survival of the fittest and all that. Not everybody could be a leader and Quinn was hard pressed to give anybody that followed behind her attention, unless it was to remind them where they belonged.

It might sound mean, or completely abhorrent, but that was how things were. She just had this ability to compartmentalize and Quinn knew it was bad to be the way she was, being able to do the things she did with little or no guilt. It had to be, at the very least, unhealthy in someway.

But, it was all she knew and she didn't even question it anymore because there was just no other way for her to be. From a young age, her parents seemed to carelessly dismiss her older sister, as someone worthy of carrying on the Fabray name, and had instead focused on honing her to be the perfect little girl that they always wanted.

When Quinn was growing up, she was showered with her parent's attention. She was that girl that came home excitedly displaying her grades in search of her father's praise. He'd scoop her up and tell her how wonderful she was and how proud she made him, while her mother posted her work on the fridge. Of course, as she got older the blatant affection quickly turned into gifts—her laptop, her car, her credit card—but he still told her he was proud of her whenever she lived up to expectations.

As it was, she rarely went against his wishes after her sister left. Lindsey just seemed to have a knack for screwing up until she went away for college and Quinn didn't want to disappoint her parents like that. Her sister leaving was the last time Quinn had ever seen her, besides the odd card around the holidays, and she never really knew why her sister hadn't come back. Her daddy just always got so agitated when Lindsey was brought up, so it was most likely something horrible.

Shaking her head, Quinn arrived at her locker and Finn was unfortunately already looming over it. Dating the school's quarterback was part of the job of being head cheerleader and she supposed Finn Hudson was a small price to pay to be on the top of the pyramid. The fact he was good looking made it somewhat easier, well, if he didn't talk or block the sun by standing in front of her.

"Hey, Quinn," he exclaimed brightly with his usual child-like excitement.

Finn's wide blue eyes bore into her, like he was pleading for a prize, while he ran his hand through his short hair, making it stick up even more erratically.

Sighing, she tossed her books into her locker and quickly slammed it shut. "I got to go. See you after practice."

She leaned up to kiss his cheek before swiftly making her way through the hall. Instead of heading to the doors that lead to the football field, Quinn took a sharp left into the washroom. She glared at a freshman applying lip-gloss in the mirror and the girl quickly scurried out the door leaving Quinn alone.

It wasn't until she was safely locked in the stall furthest from the door that her façade crumbled into a heap of rubble at her feet. Quinn had been fine until she saw Finn. She'd been kind of hoping she wouldn't see him again. The morning with him waiting in the exact same spot had already been bad enough to force her off campus for lunch. Finn was just always good at showing up when she didn't want him around and bailing when she needed him the most.

It probably had a lot to do with his simple nature—the educational system left him behind a long time ago—and the maturity of a four year old he displayed proudly like it wasn't embarrassing at all. Finn was easily bribed with candy, threw tantrums when he didn't get his way and she could usually spell out words around him if she didn't want him to know what she was trying to say.

Truthfully, maintaining their relationship took a lot more work than she was used to because Finn really liked her. She looked at him as a means to an end, while his eyes zeroed in on her like she was his whole world. A large part of her knew it wasn't fair to him—she only really started dating him to soften her image with his awkward boyish charm—but the feeling of being somebody's everything was intoxicating.

Somehow, Finn's dopey starry-eyed gaze felt like an entire football stadium had their eyes on her every move. It was that feeling of walking the halls times an infinite number and when he'd look at her for a little too long, she'd get light-headed while a sweeping surge of warmth rushed through her body. Sometimes she wondered if that was what love felt like because her mom stared at her dad that way too. Maybe she and Finn could get married and get the white picket fence together, just like she'd always wanted. Only something always felt wrong whenever she tried to picture a future standing with Finn Hudson by her side.

Perhaps, it was that feeling that drove her to rebellion for the first time in her life. Coach Sylvester had been on her to lose five pounds and Finn didn't seem to understand that when she asked him if she looked fat, he wasn't supposed to say yes. Puck had been sweet-talking some girl in the hall, telling her she was hot and wonderful, and at that moment, Quinn decided she needed that more than anything. She told him to bring alcohol, he showed up with wine coolers and she drank way too much.

Now, a month later, she was all alone in one of the gross bathroom stalls at school, clutching a deep blue box as hard as she could in her shaking hands, so it wouldn't fall to the floor. She was a week late and it would've been fine if she could remember anything about that night, except the morning when she woke up naked, suffocated by the smell of sex and Puck's cologne.

The helpful picture directions on the box started to blur, as tears were leaking from her eyes and dropping like bombs against the box's edge. She wondered if this was God's way of punishing her for straying from her chosen path and the only way to absolution was following the steps on the box until she got the answer that she just couldn't admit to herself.

Maybe if her boyfriend had actually been hooked on phonics and wasn't as sharp as a bowl of _Jell-O_ or Puck hadn't taken advantage of her while she was drunk and feeling fat, this wouldn't be happening right now. Going through the motions of the test and waiting a lot longer than necessary to look at the results. No, it probably wouldn't be happening at all.

When Quinn finally exited the bathroom—the redness of her eyes barely noticeable after an extensive use of eye drops—she caught sight of Berry using her man hands to drag Puck by the arm through the front doors of the school.

Rachel Berry—the annoyingly obnoxious, loud mouth Diva that hardly looked at her at all—was pulling away the boy that would never know he was a father.

Quinn would go to the grave denying the truth because she was pregnant and the baby was his.

Puck knowing would only make it worse.**  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** _Thanks so much to those that reviewed. I really do like hearing anything at all about how the story's being received. It makes it easier to know what to write next, since this story isn't really planned out at all. So, if you want to suggest some things, by all means, have at it. Enjoy!_

**Four**

Sometimes, being friends with Noah Puckerman was a whole lot more trouble than it was worth. He was brash, insensitive and his questionable hygiene left little to be desired. The whole badass code of conduct he lived by—consisting of specifically selected shirts that showed off his guns, a long strip of hair on his head, he insisted on calling a Mohawk, and the perfected art of a well-timed innuendo—usually made her want to slap him upside the head for the things he did in the name of his lackadaisical outlook on life.

This, of course, was one of those times.

Rachel watched incredulously, as Noah proceeded to rip open packet after packet of _Sweet'N Low_ and dump the contents onto the table in front of him. The tiny grains scattered across the battered wood haphazardly, some nearing the edge and jumping off, before he'd sweep the mess into a pile and start all over again.

Usually, he could be amused with much less destructive pastimes: like making a straw snake or hitting on their waitress with cheesy one-liners. Unfortunately, Marylyn was pushing fifty in sensible heels with a deplorable smoker's cough and even Noah had some standards.

Finally, when he moved on to real sugar, Rachel couldn't help but ask. "What are you doing? You are aware that this little mess you're making just bumped up our waitress' tip to twenty percent, right?"

He looked up and shrugged before gleefully turning over the sugar dispenser and watching the resulting carnage with a delighted look in his eye.

"Don't worry about it, babe," he mumbled distractedly. "I got it covered. Cleaned Hudson's pool last night."

"Oh God," Rachel shrieked, shaking her hands in front of her face like she was trying to get something disgusting off, "Mrs. Hudson, seriously? She's like…Noah, your behaviour is completely revolting and my appetite for the tofu scrambled I ordered is utterly ruined. How am I supposed to finish the entire to-do list I have compiled for the next twenty-four hours, when I'm missing out on the nourishment afforded to me by the most important meal of the day?"

He looked up, almost preening in satisfaction with a faraway look in his eye. It made Rachel's stomach churn at the very thought of what he seemed to be reliving.

"Yeah, the pool hadn't been properly maintained. It took a little extra effort to get it running smoothly again," he quipped with a smug smirk at the obvious revulsion on his friend's face.

"Ugh," Rachel cried, covering her ears in desperation, "please stop. While I admire the initiative of your pool cleaning business, I do not need to hear about the unsavory aspects of such an operation, especially when it involves previous acquaintances."

Noah leaned back in their booth, the awful red vinyl shrieking in protest underneath him. "Well, that should teach you to never make me sing chick songs in public again."

"You did that in penitence for your misgivings," she exclaimed in exasperation, deciding to throw her hands up in the air for a little extra emphasis. "If you want me to forgive you, I assure you, this current tactic is not the road best travelled."

Noah sighed, while awkwardly fiddling with one of the tiny cotton candy pink packages he'd already ripped open. Silence engulfed their easy banter and they just sat across from each other, not sure what to say next.

Truthfully, Rachel really wasn't that angry anymore. By the time she stormed out of bros night—with Noah not so subtly tailing her home to make sure she was safe—and collapsed under the covers of her bed, the anger just kind of left her in a whoosh. It was more frustration—and her love for stuffed animals—that spurred her to keep the charade going.

It was hard wanting the most popular girl in school because everybody wanted the most popular girl in school. Being admired was what made Quinn popular and at the end of the day even being best friends with the star running back on McKinley's abysmal football team didn't help Rachel crack the top one hundred list for people Quinn Fabray would want to date, let alone talk to.

Sure, Rachel wasn't slushied anymore—after Noah's mom got wind of the football team's favourite pastime and demanded her son fix it or else—or taunted by big meaty oafs in Letterman jackets but Rachel Berry was an entity sitting outside of the popular circle looking in.

And, she was fine with that. Sometimes, Rachel wished for the acknowledgement she knew she deserved—as a future star in the making—and the flattery of people wanting to be just like her. It was only natural, really, to want those things—everybody wanted to be accepted—but the cost of such status far outweighed the rewards.

Music was her life, it had been for as long as she could remember, and cheerleading was a popular girl's life. There was no room for anything else; Coach Sylvester's meal supplement drink—patent pending—made sure even sustenance paled in comparison.

So, yes, she was a little jealous of Noah. He got to be around the girl she wanted the most, talk to her, basically do everything Rachel wished she were allowed. He had the right prerequisites—popularity, over confidence, a Y Chromosome—to be with Quinn Fabray: head cheerleader, Christ Crusader, Celibacy Club founder.

He was everything Rachel was not and she was never great at accepting the shortcomings that prohibited her from obtaining her goals—she just wanted it too much.

"Here you go, kids," a deep gravelly voice interrupted, making Rachel twitch in surprise.

Marylyn—with her rudy-red lipstick accenting her crooked smile and bright genuine eyes that gave Rachel the feeling that she had known her for forever—placed their meals on the table in front of them before walking away.

Noah had enough meat piled on his plate that she was sure they'd butchered a poor defenseless pig in the back alley, just for him. He got the same thing every time, taking advantage of being away from his mother and her oppressive rules against eating any pork related products.

Usually, his plate would already be halfway clean by now but Noah seemed distracted with staring at the marvel that was his artificial sweetener and sugar mountain slowly collapsing into a grainy puddle across the table.

Rachel was just about to say something, when he looked up and his eyes had a genuine tint to them that she hadn't seen in a long time.

"I'm really sorry, Rach," he sighed, running a hand absently over his self-proclaimed Mohawk. "I just…wasn't thinking, I guess. She called me over and told me to bring alcohol…I'm just used to that meaning something more so I didn't think about anything else but getting that…and I wouldn't of…"

Rachel smiled softly; he always had trouble articulating apologies. The only two he'd ever given her before this were the exact same jumble of words and she decided that was enough. Sure, he broke almost all the commandments in their friend contract, that she had him sign when they were young, but they weren't six anymore.

This was new ground for them and he'd been so understanding when she confessed she might like girls a little more than boys that it was only fair she afford him the same consideration back. Any big confession was followed by an adjustment period and this had been their first test.

"Okay, I have decided to be the bigger person and outwardly acknowledge my acceptance of your apology," Rachel confessed and when he looked up at her with such a relieved expression, she added, "But, you're staying in Glee or I'll withdraw my easy compliance and I'll tell your mother about these little pork runs you make me a co-conspirator in every week."

He sighed loudly—and grumbled what sounded like many curse words under his breath—before nodding his head with extreme reluctance.

Rachel beamed and picked up her fork, her tofu scrambled suddenly smelled heavenly. She made a mental note to add time on her to-do list for drawing up a new friendship contract to include more gender specific rules in Noah's personally crafted—and named—spank bank category.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** _Sorry, this really should've been up a while ago but my week got completely slammed before I could finish it. Hopefully, it is worth the wait...I think it is longer than usual, at least for this story. Oh and a special thanks to kgleek101 and monkophile, who reviewed the last chapter. I love you forever for it!_

**Five**

"Babe," Puck whined, before reluctantly following after a speed walking Rachel, who had jumped from his truck the moment it was parked. "What's the rush?"

Rachel turned to look at him over her shoulder, an impressive mixture of exasperation and disbelief in her eyes, while she still somehow managed to eagerly scramble towards his front door as well. "You know it is most imperative that I arrive early to prepare for a television lineup of Monday's caliber. Not doing so would just be crass and insulting, not to mention incredibly irresponsible."

Puck shook his head at her superior tone and the fact that she was so passionate about something as mundane as television. Rachel was always so full of life, even when it dealt her a shitty hand. She never really talked about it, but Puck knew being the daughter of the only men in town not on the down low was pretty tough on her.

He didn't really understand why people gave her a hard time. Sure, the idea of two dudes together was kind of gross—the whole pitching and catching thing was just as terrible as when Rachel tricked him into watching _Brokeback Mountain_ by telling him it was a movie about poverty-stricken environmentally conscious cheerleaders trying to save their town's mountain from demolition—but her dads were still pretty cool.

They were much more chill about the pork thing and they always invited him over to watch football on their big screen every Sunday. Puck didn't really know a lot about the whole gay relationship thing or whatever but they stuck around for Rachel. That was more than his old man ever did.

Rachel's dads really loved her, probably a little too much. It was the reason they moved from New York to this crappy town when Rachel was five, just to give her the white picket fence childhood they never had. Both worked long hours too—so they could pay for whatever Rachel wanted—and that didn't leave them time to be at home a lot either.

It was why Rachel was at his house every Monday night to watch TV with his mom—not to be confused by Thursday night when they'd watch _Golden Girls_ box sets and play _Canasta_—gobbling down kettle corn because it didn't need any real butter.

Puck didn't really mind. He usually took the time his mother was distracted to call up one of his many frequent flyers to take them out to the lake for some quality time in the flatbed of his truck, but tonight he honestly didn't feel like it.

He hadn't since Quinn.

That night would run through his mind a lot—because, come on, Quinn Fabray was smokin' hot—and he'd get this feeling in the pit of his stomach, almost like when he drank that month old milk when the guys dared him to for twenty bucks. Remembering being with other girls had never felt like that before and the whole thing was just throwing him off his game. Puck would ask Rachel—since it seemed like that stuff chicks would know—but he didn't want to hurt her again by rehashing the past. Besides, she had barely forgiven him last time and he didn't want to go through that hell again.

He could hear Rachel in the living room with his mom when he finally got into the house. Puck leaned briefly against the wall in the hallway, just out of sight from both women currently greeting each other with joyful smiles.

"Rachel," his mother cried with her arms stretched so wide they were locked at the joints. "It's been ages since I've seen you."

Rachel nodded before stepping into the waiting embrace excitedly. Puck swore they were two seconds away from bouncing up and down but Rachel pulled away before it got that far, so she could talk, of course.

"Oh Sarah, I know," she sighed, her breath hitching almost like she was about to cry at the reminder of their week apart. "Unfortunately, our forced separation was most necessary or a lesson would've gone forever unlearned. I could not allow such a situation to occur and become an underlying unrequited resentment that would fester until it was one my and Noah's friendship might not recover from."

His mom nodded, looking mildly curious at the reasons behind their fight, since neither of them had told her, before she said, "You think my boy actually learned something?"

Rachel tilted her head to the side and an amused smirk quickly found its way onto her face. "I assure you, the lesson was extremely memorable."

When they started talking about how distasteful Rachel found some nerd guy to be, Puck quickly bailed. His room wasn't much: just a bed, his guitar and a long since broken dresser for his clothes. But, the food he had forgotten to eat gave the room a lived in smell and that was definitely much better than that fake lemon crap his mom kept trying to get him to use.

Puck didn't need a whole lot anyhow and getting what he did need was never a problem. He was resourceful, running a successful pool cleaning business in Lima, Ohio was proof of that. Most of the money from his mom's paycheck after bills and stuff went to his younger sister Hannah anyway. She deserved it much more than he did.

Grabbing the beer leftover from yesterday's midnight _7-Eleven_ run, he stuffed it in his backpack and tossed the straps over his shoulders. Having his hands free made it easier to hoist himself out his window and up to the roof. He liked it up there and it was far enough away from the living room that he could avoid whatever freaky chick stuff was going on inside.

Digging through his bag, he opened a can of beer and drank as much as he could before he ran out of breath. Unfortunately, it didn't help get Quinn out of his head but he drank what was left anyway and chucked the can off the roof in frustration.

"That was entirely too close to hitting me," Rachel huffed indignantly, her head just visible over the eavestrough.

Puck looked over at her, watching as Rachel struggled to safely pull herself through the window. She always hated the climb up but loved the view once she was there, something about the stars.

"No, it wasn't," he laughed smugly, daring Rachel to disagree with a smirk. "You're just grandiose."

Rachel seemed mildly impressed before that look was replaced by a bright smile at the fact she had successfully maneuvered herself up on to the roof without injury. Of course, seconds later, in true Rachel Berry fashion, she was staring at him with a speech at the ready, once again.

"Noah, I'm quite impressed by your verboseness lately. I have no doubt the Word of the Day Calendar I purchased for you is responsible."

"Huh?" Puck looked momentarily confused, trying to remember where he'd heard the word he used earlier and if he actually did have that calendar to thank, even if it was extremely unlikely. "Oh, I re-gifted that thing last year to my sister. Grandiose was the name of the girl in the porno I watched last night."

The smirk on his face perfectly matched the overt wink he sent her way and Puck waited for the lecture he knew was coming. Rachel might like girls but she wouldn't dare objectify them. After all, she was a fembot at heart.

Rachel scoffed at the comment, effectively shutting him down with a roll of her eyes and a heated glare before she launched into her speech. "Really, Noah? I've expressed my views on Pornography to you a countless number of times and it's disconcerting that you still insist on viewing such trash that uniformly portrays women as passive objects for a man's sexual urges. It is utterly sexist, completely devoid of class and it could possibly be the driving force behind the lack of respect the female gender receives in society today. The mere fact that you insensitively throw such a thing in my face makes me wonder why we're even friends."

Puck wasn't too bothered, since the tiny brunette was now crawling towards him, sadly in jeans and a McKinley sweatshirt that looked suspiciously like his. It was many sizes too big and the sleeves were rolled up in to giant balls on her arms. The rest hung off of her like a bed sheet but she definitely looked hot, would've looked hotter if she was still wearing the short skirt she had on earlier.

Rachel stopped beside him, stretching out her legs and leaning back so her arms would hold her upright. She glanced up at the thousands of stars above them—there were so many out tonight that the sky was lighter than it was dark—and the light breeze blew at her hair, jostling the curls just enough to force the brunette to reach up to move them out of her face. Rachel really was beautiful; she was probably the only girl in the whole world he ever thought that about.

"Why aren't you watching your crappy spy show?" he asked instead, knowing if he responded to anything in her rant, he'd never hear the end of it.

She turned to look at him with a small smile and a shake of her head. "When I chanced entrance into your room to find a sweater and didn't find a scantily clad Santana Lopez glaring back at me like the last time, I decided something must have been bothering you. So, as it is important to me to excel at everything I do, I risked my life scaling buildings like any exceptional best friend would for the chance to talk to you."

Puck snorted, completely amused by her motives, and when Rachel gave him a look of disgust in response to the sound, he was full out laughing in her face seconds later. Rachel just rolled her eyes and pulled out a water bottle from the front pocket of the sweatshirt she borrowed.

"You sure you didn't just want to get me alone," he teased raising his eyebrows up and down flirtatiously. "I know stars are on your checklist for when you tear a hole in your Berlin Wall."

She looked totally scandalized—all narrowed eyes and a disgruntled frown—and it had been just what he was going for. Puck liked being offensive, especially with Rachel because she responded so dramatically, but he wasn't actually being serious half the time...with Rachel. He just found her angry ranting amusing and it was important he be entertained.

"You are completely revolting and while a starlit sky does produce a rather romantic atmosphere that directly correlates to my inner being," Rachel paused to look up at the sky, the stars twinkling obnoxiously back at her in total kinship to their leader. "I'd never loose my virginity to you, Noah and please refrain from turning everything I said into an innuendo just this once."

"Fine, babe, you're loss is another girl's gain," Puck scoffed with a slight shrug. "If you want to hold out for a night of mirrors on the ceiling and pink champagne on ice, you'll be waiting a hell of a long time."

Rachel shook her head with a small sigh. "I'm very much saddened that you, and the hugely popular classic rock band, the _Eagles_, find such a scene romantic in any capacity but really, Noah, my reluctance to give my first time to you has nothing to do with you personally. I might be in the minority in today's day and age but I still hold onto the belief that one's first time should be with somebody you love," she explained while shyly staring down and fiddling with the water bottle in her lap.

"It got me Katie Ramsey on prom night last year," Puck murmured, his eyes glazed over in thought about that smokin' hot night as a freshman with the graduating head cheerio.

Rachel quickly looked up and all traces of her uncharacteristic bout of nerves were gone. "As, sickening as I find that look on your face, I'm sure the girl you speak of was satisfied with the outcome of your coupling. Despite my reservations about how you live that part of your life, you're always upfront about your motives and you'd never force somebody to comply to your demands."

Puck looked away, searching through his bag for another beer, while he tried not to remember how hard he worked to convince Quinn. He was sure Rachel would have changed her mind if she knew about the hazy memories he had over top of the head cheerleader: kissing her neck, bruising her lips, her breathing out no's until her resolve was too weak to say anything but yes.

But, he didn't force her. Rachel was right; Puck didn't think he could ever do that.

Quinn told him to bring the booze and Quinn had pulled him into her room. She kissed him back and panted in his ear. She never pushed him away, even when he looked up at her at the last second before hitting the home run.

Puck guzzled half his beer and when he felt Rachel reach out to clasp his forearm, he knew she had noticed something was up. Puck reluctantly placed his can between his feet and turned to look at her questioning eyes.

"Don't girls want it just as much as guys do?" he asked slowly, watching as Rachel's eyebrows slanted in confusion.

"Normally, we do, sometimes more, depending on how emotionally involved we are. Women are just better at hiding it behind self-control," she explained with a slight tilt of her head that caused the long waves of her hair to fall carelessly over her shoulder. "What does that have to do with…Noah you don't have—"

"No!" he yelled, way louder than he actually wanted, since Rachel jumped in surprise. "Well, yes, because you're a hot Jew but not because I like you or anything."

Rachel shook her head, rolling her eyes, as she withdrew her hand from his arm. "It is nice to know you find me attractive and are not put off by my nose in the slightest, but if your question had nothing to do with me than why did you ask it?"

Puck tried to figure out how to answer the question without telling her the real reason he had asked it. He couldn't tell Rachel about Quinn—not after just getting her to talk to him again—he definitely needed to wait on that. Lying wouldn't work either—she'd see right though it because they've been friends too long for her not to know—and it would just get her angry. Rachel really hated liars.

"I guess I've been feeling sorta off, you know?" When Rachel just continued looking at him, Puck decided to just go with it, since she wasn't yelling yet. "Like I feel like I ate something bad but I'm not sick."

Rachel started giggling, her tiny body shook beside him in total commitment to her laughter until the movement jostled her water bottle from her lap and it started rolling down the roof.

"No!" she screamed in agony, like she was watching a person getting ready to step off the edge of a building.

Puck moved to grab her wrist before she launched after it and they both watched her _Evian_ bottle tumble to its death. Rachel whimpered softly after the dull thud could be heard from when it hit the ground.

"It's too bad nobody was underneath that. If a penny can kill somebody, we'd be in the Guinness Book for sure!" Puck exclaimed, nodding in agreement to his own statement.

"Noah," Rachel chided, her arms flinging up dramatically, effectively breaking his hold. "I cannot believe how insensitive you are, wishing somebody would die for a picture in a giant book of miscellaneous two-bit talents and a battle for whose is bigger. Furthermore, it wouldn't be our names listed, but the unfortunate soul unlucky enough to be struck with a falling water bottle in the dead of night in Lima, Ohio."

Puck looked at her with a smirk. "That would be pretty unlucky."

Rachel had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. She couldn't possibly encourage such behaviour. Instead, she decided to focus on their conversation before her water bottle met an untimely end.

"I never thought I'd see the day where you described feeling guilty about something," she said conversationally with an amused glint to her eyes until they turned darker with worry. "If this is about what happened with Quinn, please don't feel guilty on my account. I was never really mad at you, I just had a hard time facing the fact that this time I'll never obtain what I want too much."

Puck looked down at the bag in between them and tried to determine if that feeling went away with Rachel telling him it was okay. Quinn clinging to his arms and telling him she was president of the Celibacy Club, as he placed kisses down her neck, flashed through his mind and the feeling just got worse.

He didn't understand. Nothing he did with Quinn was any different than any other girl, well, he was a bit drunker than usual but everything else was the same. He liked her sure, but not for more than the normal thrill of the chase and yet, this feeling was for her, not for his best friend.

Puck glanced up at Rachel and she was looking at him with big brown eyes, her lip catching briefly between her teeth when she noticed him staring at her. She opened her mouth to say something but Puck quickly cut her off.

"Let's toast to that," he said quickly, while reaching into his bag and holding out the can he retrieved her way.

She stared at it briefly and then looked up at him for a second before reaching out to grab it.

"Okay," Rachel said softly, still staring at him with this intense look that let him know she knew there was something more to it but thankfully, for whatever reason, she was deciding to let him off the hook.

He was hoping that this guilt thing would go away before Rachel asked him about it. Puck was already planning on avoiding Quinn anyway, unless they happened to be alone and he could taunt her without Finn finding out. Just a little to make up for all the times she called him a loser because he wasn't, Puck wasn't his dad.

Sure, what he could remember about that night was hot—and he kind of would like a second go-around to fill in the blanks of a memory he was planning on reusing nightly for a long time—but pissing off Rachel again wasn't worth all that.

Whatever was going on with his mojo would soon be gone and he'd sex up Santana for a weekend to get back on track. Yes, everything would be normal again, he was sure of it.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** _Okay, just to be clear, no children will be killed in the writing of this fic. __Puck, Quinn and Rachel will all have their own story lines and relationships that slowly come together and change because of their shared secret of Quinn's pregnancy. That means that a lot of the time Puck and Rachel will have scenes together and I know they've monopolized the fic so far, but that is only because Quinn had no reason to be around them at the present time._

_This will be a Faberry fic, they will have scenes together and they will get together in the end but for me, telling a story comes first. So, Quinn and Rachel won't be falling lovingly into each other's arms or sporadically having sex anytime soon because, quite frankly, I don't want to write the characters that way._

_That being said, I'd still love to hear anybody thoughts/opinions/ideas for this story, I just reserve the right to answer back to them._

**Six**

Quinn wondered what God expected her to do. He knew her father, created her father, and yet He gave her this baby regardless of the risks involved, mainly her daddy burning her like a witch if he found out. And he would find out; there was only so much she could conceal until she was the size of a small country. She kind of felt abandoned in a way, like she was given this impossible situation and just left to suffer all on her own.

Before, Quinn had liked to think she was bound by morality. That she stood by her convictions because they were just and honorable, even with everyone else around her giving in to their desires. It had been hard sometimes because her body wasn't governed by the same integrity as her head. Having a boyfriend about as sensual as a Golden Retriever had certainly helped but occasionally his fumbling would hit just the right spot. That was usually when she'd pull back and make them pray in an attempt to collect her bearings before she let herself cross that line. It had worked with Finn—because he had no idea what the hell he was doing—but it hadn't worked with Puck.

As a result, she was now pregnant, morally bankrupt and royally fucked.

The state of Ohio wasn't exactly the best place for pregnant minors interested in hiding said baby's existence from daddy; a simple _Google_ search and a semester of Government had made that explicitly clear. So she'd been prepared, armed with a fake I.D Santana had gotten her for a bottle of vodka from her parent's wet bar.

Quinn had sat outside the clinic for three hours yesterday, the special clinic listed in the brochure a harried nurse had shoved into her hand seconds after informing her that her test results were positive a week before. Quinn had watched so many people go inside of that clinic and she could see every single one of them, the ones that were exactly like her. That broken helplessness swirling in their eyes had been the same look staring back at her since she'd found out about the unwanted being inside of her.

There were women shuffling in by themselves, others had men on their arms that never looked happy to be there, regardless of who they were with. Whether it was because they wanted the baby or just felt inconvenienced, Quinn still wasn't sure. Then there were young girls just like her, some with disappointed parents or siblings and others without. She wondered if those that had someone by their side knew how lucky they were, she liked to think probably not.

Quinn was ashamed to say that it hadn't been a resurgence of faith that chased her away before she got the guts to go in, it had been those women's eyes when they left. Quinn wasn't sure what she'd expected them to look like but she hadn't thought they'd look exactly the same. After that, going in there didn't really seem worth it anymore.

So, this morning while she hunched over her toilet and Coach Sylvester had started yelling via blow horn outside of her window about a surprise 20k run in the woods, Quinn finally came to terms with the fact that she was doomed to see this through. There was no easy fix, no miraculous cure; just _Band-Aid__s _to temporary slow the bleeding.

Finn was _Band-Aid_ number one. Morally she shouldn't even be thinking about it—there was only one choice—but sitting outside an abortion clinic for half of her Saturday kind of warped her views on integrity. She just needed to think, preferably some place alone, except Quinn loathed the quiet. She hated the stillness in the air, the tense passing of time, just waiting for the evitable moment where all that silence was broken. It always left her on edge, coiled in anticipation, dreading that feeling of not knowing what came next.

Usually music fixed that, she had a whole iPod full of playlists for every one of her moods, but it had died this morning on Coach Sylvester's highway to hell. The private balcony in the auditorium—once used to woo potential investors in McKinley's arts program and now a popular student make out spot—was a very distant alternative, right around a last resort, but it would do the trick. That leprechaun that played the piano was always there in the morning because Brittany had made friends with him and liked to eat her _Lucky Charms_ listening to him before class. It filled the quiet and truthfully he wasn't half bad, just super creepy if for the fact that he was always around.

Only when Quinn arrived, he wasn't there and neither was Brittany. The Glee Club was there instead. The school had been a buzz last week with the news of McKinley's resident bad boy Casanova joining the polyphonic loser spree. Quinn really hadn't believed it but there he was flexing his muscles at a laughing Manhands up on the stage until his gruff voice broke through the sound of her giggles.

"I know _Cher_'s like all happy gay or whatever but the Puckster is one hundred percent straight. No way am I wearing feathers and sequins singing a song called _A Different Kind of Love Song_."

The gay kid stepped forward, pulling that black girl that tried out for the Cheerios last year and was cut because Sue said her blood test came back tater tot.

"All the more reason for me to sing the lead," he said with a nod and he nudged the girl beside him until she nodded too.

Manhands stomped her foot in an annoying beat Quinn had heard too many times when the tiny midget didn't get what she wanted and her eyes narrowed in that way that could only mean indignant speech.

"While I appreciate the initiative, I too believe that _Cher_ is far too small a niche to sing for a school assembly. To garner interest from our large, albeit musically underprivileged, student body we must sing something more accessible to the teens today. I'd suggest something alternative, leaning more towards the rock genre to keep the performance interesting."

Puck nodded, showing his support. Quinn never understood why somebody like him hung around Manhands in the first place. He was popular and Berry was an annoying loud mouth that had lived in the dredges of the sub-basement since she was born. Yet, they were best friends, despite numerous opportunities to leave for more trendy friendlier pastures, Puck always stuck around.

"How about _Rebel Rebel_? David Bowie is one quarter Jew, you know, and totally badass!"

"I…I…I like tha…that song," the stutterer said, coming out of the shadows in her usual Goth vampire gear.

Then the kid in the wheelchair rolled himself up. "Me too. I can play it on the electric guitar and get the jazz band to help with the music."

Manhands clapped her hands with a bright beaming smile, as aggravating as ever. "Excellent, so it is decided. The vote is four to two, Mr. Bowie it is."

The gay kid straightened up, clearly not liking the verdict, and ran a hand through his hair with a pedantic flip of his wrist. "Well, we'll see what Mr. Schue has to say."

Manhands seemed to deflate and Puck stepped forward, staring the other guy down. "Shut up, Georgie. We're doing the song and if you don't like it, you and _Mustang_ can take a hike."

"Fine," the boy huffed and dragged _Mustang—_that couldn't be her name because Santana would've been all over the girl—with him off the stage.

"Noah—" Manhands started but Puck quickly interrupted, tossing his arm over her shoulders in a side hug.

"Don't worry, babe, they'll be back. Now lets call practice while there is still time for breakfast. I gots a craving for a McMuffin big time."

The four started to leave seconds later and Quinn watched Puck and Manhands walk out the door after the other two. She wasn't sure what it was about the scene that made her chest ache. Part of her was convinced it was just a residual effect from the run this morning, since every other part of her body felt ready to fall off, but then she wouldn't be feeling wistful, almost like she'd lost something, if that were the case.

Suddenly, Quinn felt it, Coach Sylvester's protein shake starting to come up. Putting her hand over her mouth, she jogged off to the bathroom, passing the duo that had given her such pause just seconds before, and absently acknowledging she was no closer to figuring out what to do about Finn.

As the bathroom door slammed shut behind her, Quinn realized she really didn't care.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **_The reviews were wonderful, they wrote this._

**Seven**

Rachel was brash, bossy and a little abrasive. She substituted bravado for her conspicuous lack of height and her personal mantra of Broadway or die predictably scared off the majority of the general population. She ate weird food and dressed in unusual clothes. Her propensity to talk likened her to a broken recording of an audio James Joyce novel and when it came to her career, she was as self-serving as they come.

And yet, even with a list like that, restraint—or lack there of—was what Rachel liked to think of as her biggest character flaw. It was almost incomprehensible to most, if they stuck around long enough to ask, but then Rachel was a complicated person to understand.

She just wanted things, wanted things so much that she allowed herself to overlook the obvious in favour of attaining what she most coveted. That relentless need to grasp at her heart's ever fluctuating desire had quite possibly left her a little crazy in the end because she still went into the same situations fully expecting different results.

So while Rachel stood there listening to Noah blather on about the possibility of getting sausage and ham on one _McMuffin_, she already knew she wasn't going to go with him. Sure _McDonald's _had recently added a delicious selection of smoothies to their beverages menu—and Rachel had previously pledged to sample said additions in their entirety—but any thoughts of fruity drinks were derailed the moment Quinn had run passed.

The blonde had looked sick, incongruously pale instead of an unappealing shade of green. News had gotten around—Kurt had told Mercedes, who consequently had no volume control at all—that the Cheerios were spotted pulling a sleigh bound Sue Sylvester along the trails in the woods behind the Hummel residence a little before dawn and Rachel's flare for the dramatic had her almost convinced that Quinn Fabray lay all but dead behind the bathroom door.

Noah still hadn't seemed to notice her preoccupation and when his watch beeped signaling the top of the hour, he pushed off the locker to the left of hers that he'd been leaning on.

"Dude, we got to go before the bell. It doesn't matter to me but you're all one with the truancy cops, so..." Noah trailed off in favour of following his own advice until he realized Rachel wasn't following him. "Are you coming or what?"

Rachel shook her head, more so in an attempt to rid her eyes of their absent sheen but it doubled as prelude to her answer as well. "I wouldn't know them by name if they weren't posted outside your house every morning. Besides, making them cookies is only proper etiquette when practicing the art of good hospitality, Noah. I'm also going to have to pass on breakfast in favour of procuring the sheet music for our chosen song in preparation of the practice after school. Being prepared will further serve as incentive for Mr. Schue to see the benefits of our choice and I think it would only be prudent of me to give myself ample time just incase."

Noah looked dumbfounded but carelessly shrugged his shoulders seconds later. "Whatever, Rach, I'm out. Good luck with it or whatever."

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief, as she watched him go, until she was reminded of his tendency to loiter without her. "You better come back in time for first period!"

Noah just waved his hand dismissingly over his head and Rachel, deciding that it was the best response she was going to get from him, turned to shut her locker door. Books and purse in hand, she made her way toward the bathroom, reasoning that her entering said room wouldn't be out of the ordinary at all.

Once inside, Rachel didn't immediately see the blonde anywhere. She decided that was a good sign until she heard the unpleasant sounds that thwarted her chances at Bulimia just as much as her lack of a gag reflex did. Sue Sylvester had run the poor girl to illness and Rachel's heart clenched briefly in response.

She pulled out the gum and water bottle she had in her purse while she waited. When the toilet flushed, Rachel strengthened up and looked in the mirror attempting nonchalance. Noah said she was too high strung for it—when she asked him to teach her in a bid to hone her skills as an actor—but besides a brief stutter step, Quinn hadn't done a thing so far.

Seconds ticked by—Quinn had started moving again but the Diva wasn't sure where—until Rachel finally determined that enough time had passed to sell her presence as casual coincidence. She turned to look at the blonde and found her all the way on the other side of the room, having put as many sinks as possible between them.

"Oh, hello, Quinn," exclaimed Rachel, completely convincing in her surprise as she was sure the critics would agree. "I'd ask you how your morning had been thus far but I unknowingly answered that question just seconds ago when I walked in."

Unfortunately, her accomplished performance hadn't prepared her for the possibility of Quinn ignoring her. The blonde just continued on with fixing her makeup in the mirror like the brunette wasn't even there and Rachel's entire body snapped to attention as if she were a tiny foot solider getting ready to march.

"You know, you don't have to be so rude. I was only going to offer you a bottle of water and gum to help with the nausea." When Quinn still gave no sign that she was actually listening, Rachel balled her hands into fists and decided on a different tactic. "Acknowledging people when they are conversing with you are the kind of manors I'd expect someone like you to be fully versed in. Apparently, I was wrong."

Quinn's eyes snapped to hers in seconds and a familiar burst of frustration and nerves rocketed its way through Rachel's body. It was always like this with the blonde, ever since Rachel joined Quinn's kindergarten class and refused to share her gold star stickers. Quinn Fabray only ever spoke to her with a raised voice and a variety of glares. Today's seemed to be a mix between conceit and outrage, much to Rachel's displeasure.

"Someone like me?" Quinn sneered, the blonde's slender body instantly coiling for a brawl. "You mean somebody who actually has a life and friends that I didn't have to have Puck threaten into liking me? Yeah, that does sound like me, I can't say the same for you though, Manhands."

Rachel's jaw clenched to stop whatever was bubbling up to the surface while Quinn was still poised to strike. Every part of her that Rachel could see looked as razor-sharp as broken glass, completely out of place for a body cloaked in cheer. The back of Rachel's throat yearned for a sip from the bottle in her hands but she refused to back down. Noah regretted not standing up to his father everyday and Rachel was determined not to break the promise she made him to never allow herself to feel the same.

"If you must insult me, you should reconsider your position next time," Rachel stated with a most deliberate crossing of her arms. "Give or take a few words and mentioning Sue Sylvester's school wide reign of terror, being her minion seems a lot like the life you accused me of having."

Quinn gritted her teeth and Rachel was wondering if she went too far when the blonde stepped toward her, closing their gap to two sinks instead of three.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Quinn leaning forward in mock inquisition only irritated Rachel further, so it was relatively simple to push her uneasiness aside. "I was too busy trying to figure out if you were wearing earrings or if your nose just had it's own gravitational pull. I came to the conclusion that something so large couldn't possibly get away with defying gravity like I'm sure you hoped."

Rachel resisted the urge to reach up and announce her insecurities to the venomous viper that was closing in fast. Quinn was moving again and they were facing off at opposing ends of only one cheap slab of porcelain in no time.

"Quinn," she started, pausing only temporarily to square her shoulders, "it isn't healthy to bottle up so much aggression and unleash it on the people around you. I can only imagine what the stress of holding that in is doing to your body, especially if you're getting sick. Please at least take the water, as I fear the repercussions of dehydration settling in."

The cheerleader's eyes flitted down to the bottle in Rachel's hand before re-aiming the daggers back at the tiny brunette's face. "Stubbles, I'm not drinking anything contaminated by your man hands, now get the hell out of my face."

"Quinn, I assure you my hands can do no such thing." Rachel moved to place the water and the gum packet on the side of the sink between them before looking back up at dark hazel eyes. "I'll leave both items behind, just incase you change your mind. Your health should be of upmost importance to you, especially when adolescence is the most important stage of the body's development."

Something out of place momentarily swirled in the blonde's tempestuous gaze before Rachel turned away to the door. The Diva really couldn't be sure what it was but it certainly didn't belong. In dark weighty waters, it had only just managed to surface so briefly that Rachel knew what she had seen was something she shouldn't have.

Quinn rolled her eyes, her arms bowed with her hands gripping her hips. "Do you ever leave, Manhands, or are you a fun-sized disease that never goes away?"

Rachel stopped and looked back, taking in the blonde's angry eyes, rage-thinned lips and abnormally pale complexion. She supposed that almost failing to remember that Quinn had been throwing up moments before had been what the cheerleader was after with her atrociously harsh words, but Rachel hadn't forgotten. She was still just as worried about the other girl's wellbeing as she had been before, maybe more so since Quinn didn't look to be interested in caring for herself at all.

"Drink the water, Quinn," she sighed before continuing her walk to the door.

Once in the hall, Rachel pledged to keep an eye on the blonde; at least until she was sure Quinn was taking care of herself. It was what Rachel did for people she cared about, even for somebody like Quinn Fabray who had no interest in caring for her back.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** _Nothing really to say, just a thank you to the three people who reviewed the last chapter. It means a lot :)_

**Eight**

Business was slowing down now that one of the bars in Lima was hosting ladies nights on the weekends. Those bastards were poaching his core clientele with dollar drinks and some guy named Frère Jacques manning the bar.

His main mid-day talent had even dried up too. All the hot girls that he could count on to skip school to put out were now on the Cheerios—Sally Winters was the last hold out, she really loved the Puckster—and going to classes as Sue Sylvester spies was unfortunately a must-do for all the fine girls of cheer.

Even Santana—who never said no—was being more of a bitch than usual and she refused to go near him until he had cash to buy her things. Actually, the only person even remotely available to fuck Quinn out of his mind happened to be Finn's mom—seriously the woman hadn't stopped calling to make an appointment to get her pool cleaned since he'd left the first time—and even Puck was man enough to admit he'd already screwed over the guy enough, even if Finn didn't know about it.

And all that was the reason he was currently in Biology. Sure, occasionally, Puck liked to go to class. Most of the time, it was just to fulfill the bare minimum attendance requirement to keep Rachel and her truancy chums off his back, but other times it was because he had nothing better to do like now.

Lima was just a lot of open space and windy roads. Getting drunk and shooting stuff kind of summed up how he spent most of his time while skipping school these days. It wasn't like he could hang out at home, not with his mother becoming the newest waitress to take on the night shift at Earl's Diner.

Really, he just didn't like school and despite what people thought that didn't mean he had no ambition. Puck wanted to get out of Lima and make enough money to buy his mom a house like those famous people did when they made it big. He wanted to prove to her that he wasn't anything like his father, even if Puck looked exactly like him.

He was no Lima Loser.

And though Rachel never agreed with half the stuff he did, she was the only one that agreed with that because her whole life was about leaving town and proving everybody wrong. But, he didn't have a voice like hers; nobody would be knocking at his door in a couple years offering him a full expenses paid trip out of town.

So, Puck just made sure to do enough to get by, waiting until his diploma. His grades probably weren't good enough for college, but then Puck didn't really have an interest in going anyway. As long as he wasn't flunking out, his marks were fine with him and he planned on walking out of town on his own terms, kind of like a badass outlaw in an old western movie.

"Mr. Puckerman, could you least attempt to make it seem like you're retaining some of today's lesson plan?"

Puck leaned back in his chair—sure he wasn't paying attention but it was impossible to startle a badass—staring down old McMullen, a strict son of a bitch with Urkel glasses and a sweater vest. He was also the supervising teacher in detention five years running, so Puck liked to think they were kind of pals after all the time they spent together last year.

"Sure, Mr. M, I'm all over it," Puck promised with a large smirk.

The teacher sighed loudly and silenced the few kids that found Puck's statement funny with his ever-popular look of detention.

When the guy started talking again, Puck zoned out, finding the blonde across the room at lot more interesting. He had noticed something was off the moment Quinn came into class. More specifically, something was off with Finn and Quinn—McKinley's weak attempt at a power couple—and Puck couldn't help but think Fabray had told her boyfriend Puck had gotten there first. His stomach twisted at the thought and he was only more sure when Finn continued to ignore the blonde beside him for the rest of class.

Puck was after Quinn the moment the bell rang, finally catching up to her at her locker.

"Fabray, what's goin' on?"

Puck said it as careless as he could, which wasn't really something he had to work at much. He might've been a little off lately but the Puckster was still as lackadaisical as they come. Puck frowned slightly when he realized his inner thoughts had just been invaded by Rachel words, he could tell because of all the extra syllables. Another one, damn it.

"Why are you talking to me?" Quinn snarled coolly and she didn't even give a look his way.

It irritated him; how Quinn acted so much better than him when really she wasn't at all. He might have pushed for that night to happen but it wouldn't of happened if she didn't want it too. Puck again questioned why he felt guilty for her at all when she had treated him like an errand boy all his life.

"Oh, I'm returning the key to your chastity belt," he said conversationally while leaning against the locker beside her open one, "you know, so you can pretend I wasn't inside you already when you and the boyfriend finally go all the way on the wedding night."

Puck knew he hit a nerve and smirked proudly, even though Quinn was still turned away from him and couldn't see it. The grip she had on her locker door left her fingers almost white and her search for whatever she was looking for in her locker faltered for a little too long for him to miss.

Then she was looking at him and Puck realized how pissed off she was. Her eyes were darker than he'd ever seen them—the night he sexed her up included—and the look on her face could only be described as evil. Quinn leaned in closer—probably to make sure nobody overheard—and Puck fought to keep appearing unaffected, even though he was battling with the need to kiss her or run away.

"Lets get one thing straight, that night was a mistake. The only reason I let you near me was because you got me drunk and I was feeling fat that day. So don't talk to me in the halls, don't stare at me in class and don't think it changed anything between us. You're still the Lima Loser you've always been and I'm not interested in anything with someone like you. Just forget that night ever happened because it won't be happening again."

Puck clenched his fists briefly, having only one urge now and Quinn was lucky he didn't hit chicks. He took in her appearance, it being almost identical to his—ridged body, balled fists, clenched teeth, angry eyes—and decided to fight back the only way he could.

"What makes you think I wanted anything more than what you were begging me to take? You're nothing special, and babe, it wasn't even good enough to make it worth remembering."

Her eyes flashed and Puck didn't realize what was about to happen until his cheek throbbed with the pain of being slapped.

"Fuck you," she snarled and Puck just stood there as she tore down the hall like the angriest woman he'd ever pissed off.

He felt sick once again, as he watched her until she was gone, and Rachel was definitely right: what he was feeling was definitely guilt. Puck just swallowed briefly though before putting on his regular smirk and strutting after Quinn like nothing had happened at all.

A few people were looking at him, but not many. Him being slapped was a normal occurrence at McKinley; really it probably would've gone unnoticed if it hadn't been Quinn Fabray doing the slapping like one of his flavours of the week when he told them to take a hike.

Puck was about to turn the corner into the music hall when he was grabbed and pulled into an empty classroom. He really hoped it wasn't Quinn—since he doubted she'd be pulling him in there for a little TLC—and when he realized that it was Rachel, he was a little surprised since she had been completely missing in action in his life lately.

It had been a week since Rachel had blown off _McDonald's_ for New Directions, possibly Nude Erections, Puck wasn't sure. Schumacher's voice got really high and girlie when he was talking about show choir, so it was hard to tell. Puck had wanted to ask Rachel about it a couple days ago—because he was really trying to make an effort to be a part of the team or whatever—and when she was nowhere to be found, he had finally put it all together.

Puck didn't think she was doing it on purpose—meaning he was sure she wasn't mad at him again—because she still came over after school and they made a _Costco _run during the beginning of the week that had Rachel coming back fifteen minutes later with three bag boys carrying enough _Vitamin Water_ and granola bars to feed a small country. It was just during school hours, his best friend was gone.

Rachel got like this sometimes when she was in the middle of one of her crazy episodes and Puck had learned that it was best not to risk being dragged in the middle of it by asking. So last night, when she took him to get his Breadstix on as an apology for not being around, blaming it on their different classes and her preoccupation with making sure Mr. Spanish's—Schumacher, no, well, it was something like that—incompetence didn't ruin her career, Puck quickly took her at face value even though he knew she wasn't telling the truth.

She had said it in that loud overbearing show voice that she used at school, when she was trying to bullshit her way through the day. It was why Puck knew she was lying but he had just nodded, offering her a breadstick from the very top of the breadstick tower he built instead.

Of course now Rachel was in front of him and he realized she was angry too—looking very much like a smaller version of Quinn but much more showy with her arms crossed and face scrunched—Puck was starting to think that maybe he'd thought wrong.

"Rach—"

"Don't." Rachel put up her hands, physically barring him from talking before throwing them up in the air. "I can't…I thought…"

When she started taking deep breaths—something he knew her therapist had taught her to do to calm herself down when she was being bullied—Puck knew this wasn't about his fight with Quinn.

He took a step forward, trying to decide if she was calm enough yet not kill him for touching her and ultimately decided it was better to be safe than sorry. "Rach, what—"

"No," she murmured, shaking her head, "just…I cannot comprehend how you could be so careless."

Puck looked at her confused, trying to figure out what she was saying before just deciding to ask now that she looked kind of calmed down. "I don't get what you're trying to say, Rach."

Then she looked up and she had this look in her eyes that he'd never forget. Rachel looked absolutely terrified and he didn't understand until she said, "Quinn is pregnant, Noah."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** _I know where I'm going with this story...I just don't know how to get there. When I figure it out, I'll start updating more frequently. I'm kind of crossing my fingers that somebody wants to share a plausible idea with me but it's okay if you don't. I wrote this while listening to A Girl, a Boy, and a Graveyard by Jeremy Messersmith so it's kind of sad but then Quinn is kind of sad too lol._

_A special thanks to Still Seeing Leaves for saying please a lot when asking for this chapter :)_

* * *

**Nine**

Berry was a freak of nature. Not only did she have no problem walking around like a gender confused chorus line member, but she lived her life as a succession of top forty hits stuck on repeat. Today's, and really if Quinn was totally telling the harrowing truth, this past week had been dedicated to the most peculiar and fundamentally creepy songs ever produced. Only Manhands would think a song about stalking by a band called _The Police_ somehow ironically justified and omitted her from the stalking rule.

That psycho popped out of nowhere like Casper the Ugliest Ghost—it's greedy little eyes wide and oh so creepy—offering _Vitamin Water_ and granola bars as if Quinn was a refugee that was about to drop dead from malnutrition. Quinn wasn't sure what she did to encourage it, actually she was sure it had to do with their little exchange in the washroom a while back, but whatever the case she needed it to stop.

Except, the merry little midget wouldn't get lost.

Insults just seemed to go in one ear and out the other and threats only produced a glazed over hurt look that was accompanied with a simultaneous placating nod. Quinn even tried to renew bathing the girl in slushies but short of doing it herself—which she would absolutely not—it wouldn't be happening. The football team refused to go against an order from one of their own, well, the team minus Karofsky, who tried exponentially hard to trade a round of slushies for sexual favors.

Not even in hell—which with all things considered—Quinn was already half way there.

And now—when she needed validation for her unvoiced thoughts—that thing was finally nowhere to be found. Quinn hadn't seen Berry anywhere at all today. Not creeping behind garbage cans or peering at her from somewhere in the hall with the intensity of an axe murder looking for a victim—the virility tainted pixie stick had just vanished.

Quinn had a sickening feeling that it might be because of Puck. Their argument hadn't exactly been discreet and it hadn't been pleasant either. She supposed this was just another tier to her punishment and truthfully, Quinn didn't know how much more she could take.

A small part of her was glad when Puck came up to her because she was just so tried of keeping up pretenses, especially Finn. Scaring him into submission by over exaggerating her annoyance with him about some brainless thing he said to her about something or other—really that kind of described everything that came out of his mouth—used to be fun when she wasn't pregnant out of wedlock with a manwhore's baby. It didn't help that she was no closer to deciding on what to do about him, probably because she avoided thinking about it constantly.

For a moment, Quinn had almost wished Puck could somehow see it—the parasite living inside of her—somehow see what he did to her—what she saw every time she looked in the mirror—and make it go all away. Just like in the auditorium when he made all Manhands' ridiculous gleeful dreams come true, Quinn wanted that, she deserved that damn it.

Except, it wouldn't really happen. She was just another girl to him and he couldn't truly do anything anyway. Berry being a social retard wasn't anywhere close to Quinn's bad luck of spawning a sex addict's demon the first time she ever had sex. Apparently, the 'C word' really did help to mention and Puck's promise of 'trust me' didn't really count.

"Hello, Quinn." The whispered greeting was too soft for the voice to be recognizable but common sense made it obvious it was a girl.

Quinn cursed whoever it was outside of her bathroom stall—ironically the same one she'd been in when she found out she was pregnant—and violently wiped at the tears on her face, her hands only smearing the evidence into big wet blotches. She quickly grabbed at some toilet paper instead, silently hoping she'd be left alone as she worked on removing all traces of her weakness.

There was a sigh and then the walls shook around her. Quinn was certain the other girl must've fell back to lean against the door between them. They obviously weren't leaving and really only one girl was dumb enough to trap her inside of a bathroom stall for a chat.

Berry.

Quinn knew it was her and a quick glance down to the open space under the door proved it. Meticulously buffed yellow _Penny Loafers_ and matching argyle knee socks—signature pieces in the dwarf's wardrobe—the quintessential kamikaze romance of what not to wear.

"It's a bit juvenile not to answer me, wouldn't you agree?" Quinn's fists clenched in response to the whisper, why Berry was whispering the cheerleader really didn't know. "I'm quite aware you're in there, Quinn, as I wouldn't be here if you weren't."

The blonde took a breath and calmly loosened the grip of her hands, wincing at the wet toilet paper pasted across her palms. She set about scrapping it off when Stubbles started talking again.

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't covet the idea of speaking to myself over others as most choose to believe. I did in fact accomplish the skill of listening in kindergarten just like everyone else. It's just that nobody ever converses with me about things that don't include an insult of some kind and a masochist I am not."

Quinn tossed the paper glob in her hands into the garbage, shaking her head at the annoying rant being forced upon her. Putting a stop to it would be really easy but what Puck had said was still too fresh in her mind. Her façade had cracked a little bit and she wasn't sure what to do because it had never happened before. This thing inside of her was screwing her up—she was better than this.

Still, nobody knew, Quinn didn't think Puck knew—that she was shaken enough to hide out in a bathroom stall—either. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing what Berry would inevitably tell him if Quinn were to go out there to punch her face in. His spawn was already making her puke her guts out; she didn't need his nauseating self-satisfied smirk to do it too.

"I see you're still continuing to pretend not to be present and while I'd like to have this conversation face-to-face, I suppose sacrifices have to be made." There was a pause and some movement—Quinn crossed her fingers and hoped that the Gremlin made a run for it—but then it was talking again. "I apologize, I had a text message to attend to that just couldn't be ignored. As I was saying, I have an important matter to discus with you that inadvertently came to my attention over the past week I've been providing you with the proper amount of sustenance for living a healthy life. I'm sure you've noticed me doing so, correct?"

Quinn just shifted her weight on the toilet seat, silently wondering if already breaking a commandment—though not exactly by definition—gave her a free pass on murder. Not that she really cared at this point. In a couple months time, she'd have nothing to lose when she looked like she binged on a truckload of breakfast burritos and not only an extra one.

"I'm going to proceed as if you've given a positive response, since the question was more rhetorical in nature anyway. Your overzealousness with your insults and threats this past week has made it perfectly clear that you knew of my motives already."

Quinn absently leaned against the dispenser to her left, trying to figure out where Berry was going with her insane drivel and how long it would take. Until the thought struck her suddenly—Quinn's lip making its way between her teeth as she nervously played the tiny cross resting just below her collarbone—she wondered if Manhands knew about…

No.

Berry loved herself way too much to be that observant. Stubbles was only after her now because she accidently stumbled into the bathroom that day. Quinn wasn't even showing yet, there was no way.

"I'm sure it's quite clear that the events in washroom a week ago had me realizing how horrible your eating habits are and subsequently I decided that it would be inconsiderate of me to abandon you in your time of need. And I'm quite observant, despite what other's may think, and it became very obvious that a poor diet wouldn't cause the extreme case of nausea that you've been battling over the past week."

No. No. No.

It wasn't possible. Manhands couldn't know, she couldn't—

"Of course, I wouldn't have figured it out if I wasn't privy to your night with…" Berry whispered until her voice trailed off all together and Quinn suddenly felt cold all over.

Her head was spinning and…she was going to be sick. Quinn fell to the floor and clenched her eyes shut, hoping to stop her tears from falling.

Was this what her life had become?

It was one mistake.

Please God; it was one mistake.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

Rachel jumped off the door when she heard movement from behind it, crossing her fingers in hopes that Quinn would finally stop hiding. Except a dull thud followed and the undeniable sound of rubber skidding across tile. White running shoes became visible through the gap between the door and the floor and the tiny brunette's heart clenched in sympathy for what she knew came next.

She was also wholly unprepared. Not a water bottle or pack of gum in sight, thanks to Noah Puckerman. After Rachel had told Noah about the baby, her friend had taken off and she'd made it to the parking lot just in time to see him drive away. She could've followed him—since Rachel knew exactly where he was going—but she really didn't want to.

He had the tendency to work through things in a way that had literally given her nightmares—being privy to just how flexible Santana Lopez actually was, well it was probably the most horrifying moment of her life—and more than that she was just extremely angry with him.

So instead Rachel stalked back into the school, too distracted by her own anger to remember to stop at her locker—the location of the mentioned water and gum—and straight towards the washroom. Quinn had marched by earlier while she'd been waiting for Noah in an empty classroom and Rachel felt like it was only prudent to use the time Noah was off defiling Santana for something constructive.

She was also a little worried and for good reason it seemed. Rachel didn't need to ask if Quinn was doing well, it was abundantly clear the blonde wasn't long before today. Still something had kept the girl locked up in a bathroom stall, when Quinn normally would've been yelling insults at her by now.

It was that departure from the norm that had Rachel struggling with what to say, even now when Quinn didn't seem to be sick anymore. Rachel knew it couldn't be comfortable in there—especially after the cheerleader had spent the majority of her time throwing up—but Quinn was showing no signs of leaving—or speaking—anytime soon.

"Quinn," Rachel sighed, pausing in the hopes that the blonde would take the time to reply. No such luck unfortunately. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm not going to judge you."

Still no response. It seemed Rachel was going to have to get a little underhanded—for the blonde's own good of course.

"Alright, I suppose it is pointless for me to stay any longer. I had hoped to offer some type of support, since I'd imagine you've yet to receive very much, but I see my attempts have been in vain. I also apologize for not being as dutifully prepared as our last encounter."

Then Rachel walked to the door, pausing only to reach for the handle, pulling it open and then shutting it a little harder than necessary. With a small smile, Rachel watched as Quinn reacted almost instantly, tearing open the door, her Cheerio skirt whirling around her in her haste to get to the sink. Standing silently, the brunette waited until the girl was done rinsing her mouth before she spun into action.

"Excellent, you finally came to the conclusion that hiding was frivolous way to spend your time. I was just—"

"Berry!" Quinn spun around, looking a little crazy and Rachel imagined that a murderous glare wasn't exactly a good thing in regards to her overall life expectancy. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief when the blonde threw her hands up in the air and shaking her head being frustrated crazy not well, crazy crazy. She'd been able to tell because Noah mimed out the different faces of crazy (female edition)—or so he liked to call it—back when she was training extensively to be a contestant on _Survivor_. A month later, she realized how detrimental such an endeavor would be on her voice and scraped the idea permanently.

"Well the answer is quite simple, Quinn." Rachel walked further into the room, stopping just short of being in the blonde's reach and looked up with a small—hopefully placating—smile. "I can't."

"Well you're going to, RuPaul. I don't want you near me, got it?" When Rachel just continued looking at her, Quinn grew more frustrated. "No more water or Vitamin drinks. No more granola bars and stalking me in the halls. I don't want your help!"

"Unfortunately, I cannot promise you such a thing. Maybe before when I thought you were just eating unhealthy but now it is an impossibility."

Quinn laughed loudly—her eyes were going a bit manic—and Rachel stiffened slightly when the blonde stepped a little closer. "Oh you'll do it, Stubbles because if you don't I'll make your life hell."

Rachel smiled slightly at the threat but didn't say anything at all until Quinn stepped forward again, her hazel eyes just about black. "As opposed to what you've done already? There's nothing you can possibly do that would make it worse and by the off chance that you do find something, I can assure you that it won't matter. I have—"

"Why the hell not?" Quinn yelled, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

Rachel looked at the blonde momentarily—taking in how unhinged the usually composed girl was and the brunette felt a little guilty for driving her there when Quinn's life was already hard enough—before remembering why she'd come in there in the first place.

"Noah's my best friend, Quinn."

She might care for Quinn in someway—feelings born within her attraction and yearning for the blonde—but that didn't mean Rachel liked her. Quinn Fabray treated her like a stray dog on a street corner—like she was superior to her just because of her status, her name and her talent for standing statuesque on top of a human pyramid—and there was no way Rachel could ever enjoy that. And, it certainly came nowhere close to Noah. Rachel might be angry with him for being so careless, caring more about getting in Quinn's pants than being responsible, but that didn't mean she was going to just walk away.

"The…it isn't his so just…just go alright," Quinn murmured, instantly looking away and Rachel tried her best not to smile. It would only set the blonde off.

"We both know that isn't true, Quinn and I think it would be beneficial for you two to talk this situation through. I know such circumstances can't be—"

"No, Manhands," Quinn growled, low enough to be on the bad side of dangerous and Rachel was wondering where the Quinn that caused residual smiles went off to so quickly. "Just keep your giant nose out of my business, alright?"

Rachel tried her best to calculate the risks involved in continuing to push but being under Quinn's intense (and angry) scrutiny—a stare down if you will—was making it extremely hard to concentrate. Rachel was pretty sure it was foolish to stick to her convictions—at least while still in front of Quinn—but somewhere along the way that memo was lost in translation.

"One hour," she said instead, straightening up to her full height—that admittedly wasn't very intimidating at all—and returning the gesture of staring back. "We can hold the meeting at my house, since I suspect you'd rather not have Mrs. Puckerman or your parents finding out. I think it would—"

"No, that wouldn't be practical. I'd have to burn my uniform in a loser freak cleanse if I ever set foot in your house and you're just not worth the effort."

The blonde rolled her eyes, scoffing as they rolled and Rachel just managed to get out of the way before the cheerleader walked directly into her shoulder. The tiny brunette turned to watch her go with a small shake of her head—Quinn certainly wasn't any less volatile with baby. The blonde stormed out in true Quinn Fabray fashion—all intimidating glares with an icy posture—and when the door slammed shut, Rachel sighed.

It seemed that she'd just have to get more proactive. Some envelope pushing was clearly in order, maybe a box too. Rachel had no doubt that she'd come out victorious because this Quinn Fabray—as opposed to the…well not pregnant kind—wanted help.

It was just a matter of pushing her until she admitted it.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **_Somebody convinced me to keep posting and I've been informed that the campaign that has been ruling my life for the past couple months is finally done next week, so hopefully I'll be inspired to write more. Also, this has a fairly tame Puck/Santana sex scene. Normally I wouldn't have written it but it fell on Puck's POV, so I had to put something in about it seeing as Rachel already said he was there. Thankfully, Rachel quickly steals the spotlight before they can get further than tame. __Rachel/Quinn will be in the next chapter, promise._

* * *

**Eleven**

Santana Lopez was his go-to girl for two things: free booze and hot sex, sometimes both if he was lucky. And he was today because Santana's daddy left town for a doctor conference without saying goodbye and Puck had no problem with assisting in revenge, if fucking Santana in her daddy's bed was all he had to do.

But, more than that, his life just felt like it was spinning out of control. Things were so messed up—he had fucked up—and just for a little while he hoped he could maybe find something better; hoped he could just forget everything that he knew because Rachel wasn't lying. He knew when she was lying—her eyes had been big, brown and terrified—and she wasn't lying.

Quinn was…he'd really…it just…

Growling, he flipped Santana over, pinning her to the bed, sucking roughly on the skin of her neck. She moaned like an amateur porn star and he pulled on her blouse until buttons bounced off walls. Santana always smelt like ripe apples in autumn and did this amazing thing with her hips that put stars in his eyes. And even though she was a raving bitch all the damn time, when Puck had her like this she was so eager to please him.

Girls with daddy issues; God how he loved them, except Quinn was like that too.

Her urging him to go faster flashed through his mind, not because she wanted to feel more but because her father was going to be home soon. Quinn was pulling him closer and pleading in his ear and that was when Puck forgot to find his wallet.

"More," Santana breathed, running her nails down his back hard enough to break skin, the pain ultimately bringing him back.

Puck palmed her boobs, squeezing and pulling relentlessly. Anger was clearly leading his actions—_because how could he forget?_—but the good thing about girls like this was that they didn't care. It had something to do with projecting their need for approval—it was the only thing he retained from Rachel's hundred-slide Powerpoint (Standing in the Shadows of One's Own Sunshine: A Presentation of Self-Esteem by Rachel Berry) before he fell asleep with his eyes open—so Santana dragging him upstairs and pushing him on the bed was totally not his fault. Heck, Puck even expected some sort of bitchy remark about his cash flow—or lack there of—when she opened the door. But, Santana just looked at him, pulled him in seconds later and had him sprawled out on her parent's slippery sheets not long after that.

She was down to her underwear by now—currently pulling down his own—and Puck let her take control for a while. He just needed to stop thinking and her sliding down his body definitely did that. Seconds passed until heat surrounded him in the most delicious of ways, and Puck couldn't help but groan when he watched her head start to move up and down. His fingers were covered in brown locks and every single swipe of her tongue was getting him hot.

He forced her to take him further inside and when she moaned, he bit his lip to make sure he didn't call out something embarrassing. A couple minutes later, Puck literally exploded—there was a blinding light behind his eyes, electric shocks zapped him everywhere and his hold on reality slipped away.

That moment he'd been looking for—when time slowed down, his breath got short and everything that was wrong in his life suddenly felt so right—it had arrived. Unfortunately, it left way too early and Puck really should've known that he wasn't going to get one night all alone—one night that was his—away from all the mistakes he ran from at school.

His phone was ringing and Santana looked up at him warning him not to answer it with a pointed glare. But, he ignored her because it might be important—somebody could be hurt or it could be that guy that gave away houses on that radio show.

Groaning, Puck leaned closer to her and she handed him his jeans with an icy glare. Maybe the post-cum haze made it hard to be an asshole because he pulled her to him for a long sloppy kiss while his phone continued to ring between them.

"Don't worry, babe. I'm not going anywhere," he mumbled against her lips and she seemed satisfied enough to not do anything but roll her eyes.

He wasn't stupid; Santana was worth keeping happy. Besides being bitchy, angry and really mean, Santana really was his best option for a good time. She was talented too. When she moved behind him to make herself comfortable against the pillows near the headboard, Puck flipped his phone open.

"What, Berry?" he sighed, while adjusting his boxers so they were fully covering him once again.

She couldn't see him but the fact that he was safely covered made the whole situation less awkward. It was ridiculous after what he just did that he felt self-conscious, but it was true.

"I'll be arriving at Santana's in five minutes time. Please be ready to leave or I'll have to resort to drastic measures, which I have no doubt you won't appreciate very much."

Puck debated silently for all of two seconds before groaning. "Fine."

He then hung up the phone before she could continue to ramble and tossed it on the bed beside him. Puck was just pulling on his jeans when he heard movement from behind him. "Running off to RuPaul again? What is she you're manly and freakishly short keeper?"

Puck grabbed for his shirt at the end of the bed before turning to look at her. Eyes blown, lipstick smudged, hair wild, nipples hard—God what he gave up for Rachel.

"Listen, babe. Your parents won't be home until next week so I'll come back to sex you up later, kay?"

She rolled her eyes and tossed his jacket at him with a disgruntled huff. "Don't worry about it, Puck. I'll find somebody else who doesn't have a pet troll latching onto them like a STD."

"Whatever, babe. You'll call," he laughed, smirking smugly as he slipped on his shoes. "You want this more than I need you."

And she would call because Puck was just cruel enough to leave her wanting more. His motto when dealing with Santana: be a bastard. It worked every time.

Then he left her in her parent's room, horny and all alone—damn it Rachel. Luckily, Santana would probably just call Brittany anyway. The sexy—and oh so flexible—blonde cheerleader was always the girl's second choice.

Rachel was waiting in the driveway, leaning against his truck. He wondered how she's got there but then Rachel had changed from the skirt she'd worn at school, now in _Converse_ and jeans, so she'd obviously been home first. It was in walking distance of Santana's.

They didn't say anything while they both got into his truck. He didn't ask where she wanted to go and Rachel didn't argue when the truck started to move throughout the neighbourhood. Rachel didn't even protest when they went through a fast-food drive-thru because sex always made him hungry. It wasn't until he pulled into the parking lot of the neighbourhood park—the sun was just setting and it was empty—that the tiny brunette decided to speak.

"You got me a milkshake, right?" she asked while reaching over to grasp one of the two cups he'd put in his cup holders.

Puck laughed, nodding slightly in response. "Cheating, huh?"

Rachel glanced down at the cup in her hands with a small frown before shaking her head. "I think today is as good a day as any to indulge myself. You are well aware that ice cream makes me happy."

"I thought that was water?"

Rachel took a sip from her straw, closing her eyes briefly with a small groan. When she opened them, Rachel quickly looked away from Puck's attempts at shoving half a hamburger into his mouth. "No, water is an attempt to swindle myself into thinking I'm thirsty instead of sad."

"That was totally hot, babe. Please do it again," he pleaded with starry eyes and ketchup on his chin, completely ignoring what she'd said.

Rachel just rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure that isn't a good idea. To use an analogy you are most familiar with: you're a sex shark and my calling interrupted you mid-swim, which I find highly amusing but I'm sure your body doesn't concur with my assessment."

"I'm always ready for quality time with a hot fellow Jew," he winked and the brunette sighed, looking down at her drink.

"I can't really find humour in that, Noah. Not with circumstances as they are." Rachel moved her straw around before letting go of it and looking up. "Noah, you can't charm your way out of this and avoiding it is just as futile of a decision."

Frowning, Puck put the rest of his burger down on the dash, looking straight ahead at one of the swings swaying in the wind. His hands migrated down to the steering wheel, squeezing the battered rubber until his knuckles were white.

"I know, I just…I wasn't expecting it, okay? She didn't even tell me and I still don't get how you even found out. She doesn't even want my help anyway."

He didn't even get a chance to be different. His father had gotten his mother pregnant at a party in high school and then ran out after he was born—telling his mom he needed to work—driving his damn 18-wheeler around America. He sent money, came back for a couple weeks at a time and then Hannah was born. He never came back after that. Puck's whole life he'd promised himself he wouldn't be anything like that man and now...he'd gotten a girl pregnant and he wasn't allowed to help.

"She does, Noah," Rachel assured, reaching out to put a hand on his arm, leaving it there until she had his attention once again. "Quinn's just too afraid to ask for it. Such a circumstance is much more bearable with evasion rather than confrontation and seeking help directly defies that course of action."

Puck sighed, running her words back in his mind before shaking his head. "Normal people speak, Berry but I got the gist of it. If she's too scared to ask for my help than I'll go to her. I don't care what it takes, I'm not my dad and my kid's gonna know that."

"No, if you do that, she'll never seek out help." Her eyes were wide with worry, silently warning him against following through with his own idea and when he just continued looking at her, Rachel once again rushed to change his mind. "It is most imperative that Quinn come to us or she'll never agree."

"Or we can make her agree." Rachel glared at him and he sighed. "Fine, what do I do?"

"I've set up a meeting for next week Friday. Quinn will be present and I expect you to be as well, hopefully with something intuitive to say on the subject."

Puck was skeptical but she seemed so sure. She was greedily sipping from her cup of sin with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. He just couldn't help but want to know. "How do you know she'll show?"

The straw fell from Rachel's lips and she tilted her head to the side in deliberation, making him uneasy with constant eye contact. Then suddenly she had a giant smile on her face and he could only imagine the crazy things that she was thinking.

"Because I am confident that in time Quinn will see the merit in accepting assistance from those who want to offer it," she relayed with an excited clap of her hands, clearly something she picked up from being around Spanish.

So that was definitely not right...maybe. Puck did remember him talking about Spanish a lot, so maybe he taught Spanish—Puck hadn't really stayed awake in his class long enough to be sure—but then why did he look really interested when the gay kid was talking about Spanish breakfast foods last week?

"Berry," said girl turned to look at him, straw now back in her mouth, "the teacher guy in Glee club, do you think he likes Tostadas?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

Quinn Fabray was a monochromatically schemed beauty queen. Naturally gorgeous and dressed in her cheer uniform sometimes more than fifteen hours a day, the head cheerleader lived, breathed and looked death in the eye everyday in McKinley white, black and red.

By death, she meant her clinically insane cheerleading coach that may or may not have posed for _Penthouse_ before moving to Lima, Ohio with a wide variety of tracksuits in hand. Sue Sylvester was the equivalent to Lizzie Borden having an illegitimate love child and offering it to Benito Mussolini to raise. For her, it was all about power and winning—at the end of the day there was nothing Sue wouldn't do for a trophy.

And that included calling practices at five in the morning on a Monday, still fully expecting the precision and expertise of a team of world-class gymnasts. That coupled with Sue's fondness for believing that blame and torture were of the same meaning was the reason Quinn wasn't in Math.

Being pregnant didn't help either.

Morning sickness was a bitch at the best of times but not being able to feel her legs made it that much more torturous. When the squad didn't perform—some even daring to show up to practice late—it was on Quinn. Sue ruled with an iron fist, drawing inspiration from her—alleged—days fighting in Vietnam. Her girls were a single entity—they dressed the same, acted the same, thought the same—when somebody screwed up, Sue Sylvester cut off the head and let the pain trickle down the ranks.

Quinn was Head Cheerio—as Sue liked to call them because she thought the word 'cheerleader' was trying too hard—and had been punished with laps long after the rest of the squad were gone. The blonde had already been seeing multiples and was pretty much seconds away from collapsing on top of the finish line, when the track-suited iron maiden herself appeared megaphone and scathing remark in hand.

Quinn had never been so glad to see three Sue Sylvester's in all her life and she'd been standing shakily in the showers ever since, concentrating in on her desperation to not fall down.

The water from the shower cascaded down her lithe body, caressing her pale skin before pelting the startlingly white tile underneath her feet. She closed her eyes, placing her hands on the cool tile and leaning her body forwards so her arms took the brunt of her weight. The shift in stance aimed the spray against her forehead, the warm liquid now running down her face in streams leaving her skin tinted red in its wake.

Quinn didn't think she could take anymore. Practice was getting harder, sleep was pretty much non-existent and Berry was still tailing her like a disgruntled Chihuahua yapping at her heels.

It followed her—to her locker, to classes, in the lunch line, to Cheerio practice, to the parking lot, sometimes home if Manhands wasn't wasting away money on lessons for something dramatically inclined—always rambling on about the benefits of this meeting on Friday it had made up in its head.

Because there was no way Quinn would ever step into a house lived in by a freak show like Berry. Manhands was five pounds of crazy in a ten-pound bag and about as tall as said bag resting on a footstool. She pranced around being annoyingly ostentatious and ear splittingly loud, boasting about being destined for Broadway. Quinn wanted to punch her in the face—aiming directly for the nose—almost every time Berry blipped her radar.

There was absolutely no way she's ever entertain the thought, except for maybe begrudgingly—very begrudgingly—conceding that Stubbles' dedication was somewhat admirable.

Shaking her head, Quinn reached out to turn the water off, it having long gone cold during her musings of how much her life sucked. Lavender wafted through the air, body spray left over earlier from a Cheerio no doubt, its smell becoming more pronounced by the steam drifting all around her. Wrapped in a towel, Quinn padded out of the shower—stealthily avoiding any reflective surfaces—and stopping at her locker, quick to began going through the motions.

She donned her uniform like battle armor—feeling the surge of confidence the imported polyester instantly jolted her with—and brushed her wavy blonde curls back in a meticulous ponytail, not a hair out of place.

Her patented ice queen scowl instantly found its spot on her face and she opened the locker room door just as the bell rang to end the period. Strutting down the hall—one hand firmly on her hip, cool mask of indifference tacked firmly in place—people cleared a path instantly, leaving her free to walk as they tracked her every move, all except one person.

Berry.

She was at the end of the hall, staring at her with unconcealed determination. The irony of an epic standoff—the kind with tumbleweed blowing in the wind—was not lost on her. It was Thursday and Manhands had one day left to do the impossible. When that didn't happen—reasons why were cited above—the gender confused elf would obviously realize that she wasn't going to give in, thus dropping this insane quest where it stands. With that in mind, Quinn looked away, heading to her locker like complementary matched argyle had not just scorched her retinas.

Treasure Trail was still zeroing in on her position anyway. She could hear her stomping down the hall because the loser even stomped to a tune. Quinn opened her locker and started pulling out her books, mentally going through her catalogue of Berry-appropriate insults to prepare for the inevitable arrival.

Those hideous—yet meticulously polished—_Mary Janes_ stopped on the other side of her locker door, Quinn could see them gleaming against the overly dirty floor. Sighing, the blonde slammed the metal door shut, looking down at Berry with a roll of her eyes.

"Manhands, I see you hit the Salvation Army last night to further uglify your wardrobe."

Quinn was actually quite proud of that one. It was insulting and she'd successfully incorporated a word she felt should be included in the dictionary. If one could beautify, certainly one could ugify—Berry being the prime example of such things.

Unfortunately, Stubbles didn't look affected by the barb at all. In fact it almost seemed to empower the midget because the brunette had straightened up, narrowed her eyes and looked right at her. "Quinn, I'd appreciate if for once you didn't waste valuable time with your petty insults that really have no relevance to the situation at all. I think—"

"I know," Quinn interrupted, ignoring Berry's disgruntled glare that she always gave when cut off, "except every time I'm next to you, I get a fierce desire to be alone so I kind of hoped you'd take the hint and leave if I insulted you enough."

Rachel sighed. "You know I can't do that because as you know, Friday is fast approaching and I'm again wondering if I can mark down your RSVP for the event."

Berry was looking up at her with an inquisitive gaze and Quinn wondered if she thought that would actually work. Apparently, she did.

"And once again I'm going to have to say in hell, Stubbles," she relayed before walking directly into Berry's shoulder, spinning the girl around with a sharp gasp.

"Alright, Quinn," Berry called after her and Quinn forced herself not to stop to feed her curiosity, "I didn't want to advance onto plan orange but unfortunately drastic times call for drastic measures."

Now Quinn did stop. Flashes of the midget standing on her doorstep—with _What to Expect When You're Expecting_ in one hand and a congratulations balloon decorated in baby bottles in the other—whirled through her mind. She clenched her jaw and stocked back to the harmonious torn in her side.

"Stay out of my business, Berry," she growled, jabbing her finger into the girl's shoulder with every word. "I'm warning you."

Manhands looked fearful for half a second before she once again straightened up in another indignant pose.

"And I'm warning you," the midget exclaimed rather spiritedly, "I'm not above doing exactly what I have no doubt you're thinking because that…" Berry trailed off, taking a breath until her voice came out in a whisper, "child is Noah's too and he deserves a chance to be there for it."

"That's my decision and I'd rather not be associated with a Lima Loser for nine months. I'll take my chances with what I have now."

"So you're going to tell Finn then?" Berry inquired while crossing her arms in a pose that clearly challenged her to agree.

Unfortunately, Quinn could not and that realization was coupled with noticing where she was: in the halls of McKinley High, surrounded by her peers.

"Shut it, Manhands," she growled while subtly looking around to see if anybody heard.

People in the hall didn't seem to have heard but they were looking at them curiously, since it wasn't everyday Quinn Fabray talked to Rachel Berry for longer than a customary passing insult. Quinn quickly grabbed the collar of the brunette's hideous sweater and pushed her into the empty Astronomy room a couple feet from her locker.

Berry stumbled momentarily—Quinn was visibly disappointed when the Smurf didn't fall flat on her ginormous nose—and then the fun-sized annoyance was back looking annoyingly confident.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what do you plan on telling him? Because in a couple months that uniform isn't going to fit and people are going to figure it out. Admittedly, Finn isn't the most brightest soul but his mind isn't that ill-fated."

Quinn looked down at her uniform and the confidence it had once gave her started to fade away until the artificial fabric felt like it was squeezing the air right out of her lungs. The blond glanced back up immediately and Berry's eyes caught her own. They looked so warm—like gooey chocolate chip cookies—giving off the illusion that if Quinn just gave in everything would be okay. But, Quinn knew better than that. She'd learned a long time ago that the world didn't work that way, no matter how much it looked like it did.

"I can take care of myself, Berry," she sighed, turning her eyes to look at the large model of Jupiter hanging right behind the brunette's head.

"I'm aware of that, Quinn but everybody needs help sometimes." Quinn didn't look back at the brunette because Jupiter was way more interesting and Berry's eyes were all lies. "It's just an hour and after that, if you still do not want Noah's or my assistance, I'll leave you to your own devices. Of course, if you still refuse such a meeting, I'll be forced to prolong my attempts to convince you of the merits of such an endeavor. The cycle will continue for as long as you allow it to Quinn."

Manhands stopped talking after that and Quinn gritted her teeth at being backed into a corner because the blonde needed something scraped off her more than filled plate. She'd been tired, terrified and followed every second since that pregnancy test and unfortunately only one of those—the completely annoying and delusional one—was able to give.

"One hour," she sighed while unconsciously clenching her fists, "and after that I'll leave and you'll go back cleaning up the chocolate factory, got it?"

The answering smile made her wince because making Berry happy felt so wrong. Quinn looked back at Jupiter to save her eyes from the beaming beckon of happiness currently standing in front of her.

"Yes, of course, Quinn," Rachel relayed with an affirmative nod. Of course, Berry would confirm something she'd said herself, "though I must say that the insinuation that I am an Oompa Loompa is most unwelcome."

Quinn just rolled her eyes and took this opportunity to make her escape, throwing an absent comment—whatever, Berry—over her shoulder just before she hit the hall.

One hour.

Then her miniature stalker would be gone for good.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** _This a repost just because I changed a couple things. I hope more people share their thoughts on this fic because honestly, it's not looking good for this story._

**Thirteen**

For all Rachel's bravado at convincing Quinn to show up to her home—at a predetermined time that had been previously screened to make sure it was compatible with all of their schedules—she hadn't actually remembered to plan a suitable course of action for when the blonde cheerleader actually agreed.

Her one-track mind never took into account the scene before her: Quinn Fabray standing outside her front door in her Cheerio uniform and a scowl. Rachel's heart beat a little quicker in response to the very short skirt swaying in the breeze.

"Manhands, stop staring at me like Patches the creepy homeless guy and move out of the way so I can get in."

Rachel jumped in surprise before quickly doing as Quinn asked—ordered—allowing the cheerleader to stomp by her. The tiny brunette then promptly followed with a disgruntled huff.

"I assure you I was not staring at you like that fiend of man that once heinously chased me a block and a half in an attempt to steal the gingerbread house I had baked for the kids at Lima General during the Holidays last season. I would never—"

"Berry, I don't mind that you're talking so long as you don't mind that I'm not listening and since I know you do, just shut up."

Rachel did—reluctantly—and with a small frown she lead the tempestuous blonde toward the living room. For the first time, her parent's workaholic tendencies had come in handy. Rachel wanted Quinn nowhere near her room; it being one of the few places that she felt completely safe and Rachel refused to give Quinn the opportunity to screw that up.

Noah was waiting for them, staring at the bowl of pretzels on the coffee table Rachel forbid him to touch until Quinn had arrived. She'd decided that hors d'oeuvres probably wasn't a good idea with an angry—recently blackmailed—Quinn Fabray in attendance. It had crossed the singer's mind more than once—since their extremely nerve-racking meeting in the Astronomy room—that Quinn might have the skills to maim with a toothpick if provoked.

Rachel watched his head whip around to stare at them, his eyes tracking Quinn as she begrudgingly sat on the sofa across from him. When he turned to reach out for the pretzels—that he was now technically allowed to have—Rachel cleared her throat and whirled her hands in the air.

"Well, my presence is needed no longer. I'll be in the other room crafting a new draft of my weekly letter to the Ohio Show Choir Committee urging them to see reason in introducing a mandatory solo act into competition. I suggest you use this time—"

"Oh no you don't, Treasure Trail," Quinn exclaimed, bouncing off the couch, her eyes wild and her fists clenched. "You're staying. I need a witness to whatever this moron has to say."

Rachel paused, looking at Quinn momentarily before nodding and sinking into the matching armchair across from Noah's. She kind of hated that she couldn't just walk away, not after Quinn—in her own way—practically pleaded with her to stay. Rachel watched as the blonde sat back down, her body unconsciously turned away from Noah, almost like a preemptive strike of self-defense.

Rachel frowned; clearly she didn't have the whole picture. There was time for that later though because Quinn was staring intently at the brass sundial clock that had been uncovered on one of her fathers' weekend antiquing trips last year and placed above the fireplace. The girl was really taking the hour timeline to heart and Rachel never should've expected any less.

"I see neither of you are very talkative at the moment, so with Quinn counting down our time by the second," the blonde turned to look at her with a glare and a somewhat charming dusty rose tint to her cheeks, "I suggest you start us off, Noah."

The boy's head whipped up from where he was piling pretzels into his hand. Rachel winced when his hand tipped and his chosen pretzels fell back into the bowl, essentially contaminating them all. The icky germs of Noah's—yucky boy—hygiene inhumanly tainted her favourite snack for all—mainly her—to enjoy.

Rachel was scowling when Noah started his speech. "That kid's half mine and I'm helping with it."

The tiny brunette sunk her teeth deeply into her lip in an effort to not interrupt. 'Speech' had definitely been generous. Obviously when she asked him earlier if he was ready, his—_I got it covered_—reply meant he was prepared up to his standards but not hers and definitely not Quinn's. Rachel knew she should've pressed for more but Noah seemed so serious about this and…

"That's all you have to say?" Quinn yelled, her eyes flashing and Rachel really shouldn't have so easily agreed to stay. This was just really really awkward and the half written letter in her fathers' study was calling her name louder every minute.

Noah strengthened up and he shrugged nonchalantly. "Babe, it takes two to tango and it's you're fault as—"

Rachel's eyes widened at Quinn's impressive show of agility, shooting off the couch and close enough to slap Noah in seconds. Holy Barbra, this really was not going as well as she had—forgot to—plan.

"Whatever, Puck. I'm done with this. Don't come anywhere near me, got it?"

The cheerleader turned to leave—not even sparing Rachel a glance—and the tiny brunette decided to put her previously unfounded skills as a mediator to the test. Of course, this particular circumstance read more like a hostage situation than a mediated dispute but she wasn't about to let all her hard work go to waste.

"Quinn," she called, chasing after the blonde and finally stopping her in the foyer near the door with a brave hand to the other girl's arm, "I implore you to stay a little longer. I know Noah…well he's left little to be desired at the moment but I assure you it will be worth it."

Rachel waited painstakingly for the pregnant girl's decision. The fact that Quinn was faced away from her only added to her anxiety, since it was impossible to prepare for what she was unable to see.

"No thanks, Stubbles," Quinn stated coolly and Rachel eyes widened, visibly panicking as she watched the blonde walk closer to the door.

"Wait," Rachel's brain raced for something to say when Quinn failed to stop after her hasty and borderline desperate cry, "I…I think that you need to be here because we're all the help you know you're going to receive. You can continue to ignore the circumstances as they are and convince everyone with lies that nothing has changed but eventually the truth will come out and you'll be worse off than you are now." Quinn had stopped but not turned around and Rachel desperately sought after something else to say. "And we…we agreed to an hour and if you leave now, I'll be forced to renege on my side of our agreement."

Rachel had time for a deep breath—after her rather long speech—before Quinn whirled around and marched by her once again. Sighing in relief, the brunette rolled her eyes and followed after her. Noah stood up when they entered—he'd obviously realized his mistake—and opened his mouth to say something when Quinn beat him to it.

"I don't care what you want. I don't care about your daddy issues or anything you have to say." Noah was staring at Quinn with wide eyes and Rachel shook her head when their brownish colour went dark. It was times like these that Rachel wondered why she was even friends with a guy like Noah Puckerman. "But, if you want to help you need to prove to me that you can, since the last time I trusted you got me saddled with a demon spawn for nine months."

Noah was eagerly nodding. "Fine, what do I got to do, babe?"

"Don't call me that," Quinn growled, her eyes narrowing and Noah put his hands up to placate, "and you can start with paying for the doctors appointment I have on Monday."

"But that only gives me the weekend," Noah yelled, gritting his teeth.

It was a next to impossible task and Quinn was intentionally making being there for his child contingent on it. The blonde shrugged, uncaringly and if Rachel wasn't Noah's friend—and ultimately just as affected by this—she'd be undoubtingly impressed with Quinn's devious ploy of revenge. There weren't many people that could bring a man to his knees with such relative ease and the trait made Quinn extremely appealing, especially when Rachel knew Noah deserved it. Just like being attracted to Quinn didn't necessarily mean she liked her, being friends with Noah didn't necessarily mean she was opposed to making him a little miserable after what he did.

"Well, the bill can't come to my house so you better think of something," Quinn stated bluntly, the ultimatum of 'take it or leave it' abundantly clear...at least to her

Noah looked like he was teetering on an explosion: fists clenched, as if ready for a fight and eyes dark but definitely not from arousal anymore. When he opened his mouth to comment, Rachel quickly interrupted, "Fine, Noah will do it, right Noah?"

She silently pleaded with him to agree and Rachel's sigh was barely audible as she watched as Noah breathed deeply and forced out, "Yeah sure."

Quinn just nodded, a smug smirk playing at the corners of her lips before she turned to look at Rachel. "Now leave me alone, Stubbles."

Neither watched her leave and when the door slammed, both fell back onto the couch, a whoosh of air leaving their lungs.

"She just…" Noah whined, eyes still wide with amazement.

Rachel shifted so her head fell on his shoulder and she ruefully patted his hand. "Yep."

"And we got…"

"You, Noah. She railroaded you. I'm merely a bystander impaled with your consequences. Innocent bystander is what I'd be called, I believe."

"You're still mad, I get it," he sighed, anxiously running a hand over his barely-there hair. "Thanks for helping me anyway."

Rachel raised her head from his shoulder; her eyes swirling and deadly serious with a small smile contradicting her face. "When I consolidated all my research on being a potential best friend, the one thing that was abundantly clear was that friends stick by friends through thick or thin. I've just had the unfortunate luck of being friends with a person who tends to screw up royally."

Noah's head hit the back of the couch and she felt his breath hitch slightly at her accusation. Rachel Berry never pulled punches, subtlety was definitely not in her wheelhouse and she was angry with him, especially when he almost just chased Quinn away after everything she'd done to get her to show up.

"I'm sorry, Rach. I didn't—"

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," Rachel exclaimed before pushing herself up off the couch. "I'm sure our drive will give us ample time to talk about this further."

Noah's eyes widened and his back snapped ramrod straight. "Drive? Columbus? We're going there?"

"Noah, we don't have time for your futile complaints on the subject," she admonished, already looking around for the phone when she realized her daddy once again forgot to put it back on the pod. "We both need to pack and with only a weekend this is—"

"...our only option," he finished, much to Rachel's annoyance.

She hated being interrupted but to her credit, the tiny brunette just nodded. "I'll make the necessary calls and arrangements while you go home to pack. Please make every attempt to bring more than socks, batteries and condoms this time around."

He nodded but unfortunately Rachel didn't hold high hopes that Noah would listen. They wouldn't be in this mess if he did.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **_First, I apologize for leaving this as long as I did. I just wasn't inspired by it anymore because it didn't look like anybody else was. But after correcting and reposting the last chapter, I now have people asking for an update and now I've obviously updated. Also, I'm aware that some people are put off by Quinn's anger towards Rachel but really the girl is just angry at the world, so Rachel is unfortunately included - actually Rachel made sure she was included. That doesn't mean Quinn hates her and really, having somebody constantly hounding you to do something you don't want to do is aggravating. _

_So I do think Quinn is redeemable and I do think that people that are taking her words at face value should give me a little faith. I love Faberry as much as you do and I wouldn't have labelled this as such if Quinn actually meant what she was saying. I was just extremely disappointed with how the pregnancy was handled in canon and I really wanted to write that girl that was angry enough to stand up in front of a room of people singing, It's A Man's Man's Man's World. 'Cause honestly, that Quinn is amazing. So, as a final warning, this won't be as light-hearted a story as my other ones, especially from Quinn's POV and Puck is a little damaged about things in this one too. Rachel, well, that would ruin the surprise..._

* * *

**Fourteen**

The clock on the dashboard said seven thirty in his dad's old _Ford F-100._ It was Monday morning and Puck was zooming through Marysville trying to get (Rachel) back in time for homeroom. The tiny brunette was curled up asleep beside him, her head resting against the barely cracked window and his Letterman keeping her warm.

Puck turned the wheel to maneuver around a slow ass driver. He looked over as he passed: a woman, typical. His coffee sloshed around inside the cups trapped in holders as some guy rambled on about something or other on _WTVN_. Rachel couldn't sleep with music playing; seriously, he's seen her pop up from a dead sleep the moment the opening notes of _Master of Puppets_ sounded through the speakers in his room. But he needed some noise to keep him awake, so news radio it was.

It had literally been down to the wire for them to get the money in time. He didn't think either of them slept at all on the weekend but he did get the cash to give to Quinn to pay for whatever. Rachel totaled it up; he just knew he needed to meet the sum she showed him at the end to be there for his kid.

They've been running off to Columbus on weekends, since he was old enough to drive, so they pretty much knew what was going on. Rachel had family there and she liked to see them; he just went along for the ride because spending time in Lima sucked. After a while, he brought up the idea to play music on the street, since his pool business was still just starting out back then. It was easy cash and Rachel immediately deemed it 'an appropriate friend activity' when it improved her voice. And Puck was all behind that because he didn't have to hear her lecture him for hours on his immaturity until she felt she'd made enough of an effort to allow herself to give in to what he wanted. Much like when Hudson chickened out and stayed in the car while they super glued the gay kid's patio furniture to his roof. Yeah with him, Rachel was kind of a bad ass.

But the trips to Columbus always turned out bad for him in someway. Columbus was never kind to the Puckster, which was why he kind of complained a bit after Quinn left. Sometimes it was just a freak disaster like being chased by that dog one time or Rachel's little cousin dumping yellow paint on his only pair of jeans. But, most of the time, it was Rachel totally salting his game with the ladies that made everything suck.

Berry was a freakin' chick magnet. She opened her mouth and they came in waves. Giggling and staring starry eyed at her while he was stuck with the—damn old (ancient) women that thought that his mohawk was just precious—leftovers. It was even more horrible because that pile of numbers—full of the best and brightest the bi-curious community had to offer—was totally wasted on Rachel because she only called maybe one, sometimes none at all. Her search for 'the one' was something he could never talk her out of. She'd just smile knowingly and change the subject without even blinking, well not before offering him the stack of paper with a smirk that he'd taught her.

Said girl grumbled from beside him and he glanced over as she was stretching the sleep out of her body. Her white v-neck tee rode up underneath his jacket; smooth and toned skin was very visible to his lustful eyes. Puck turned back to drive when Rachel rolled her eyes and wrapped his jacket further around herself by putting her hands in the pockets and pressing the fabric inward.

A beat of silence and then, "Who's Lauren?"

His eyes snapped back over to the scrap of paper she was holding up between her fingertips that he'd forgotten was in his coat pocket.

Lauren.

_Groaning, Puck heaved his guitar into the backseat of his truck and tried to ignore the group of giggling girls swarming Rachel a few feet away. When he heard one of them going on about their dreams of being a pop-star, he almost started smashing his head against the back window._

"_Hey, you're with that girl over there, right?" Puck looked up into the dark eyes of a big ass Goth girl. She moved to the side when he didn't answer right away and the glare off her glasses almost blinded him to the point he could just make out her long black hair. "You can hear me can't you? 'Cause if you can't you're a lot less hot now."_

_Instantly Puck straightened up and moved his head away from the beam of light burning his eyes. "Sure, babe. Can totally hear you."_

_The girl shook her head. "Yeah, don't call me that. If this is going to go any further, you best get that straight, got me?"_

_His eyes widened for a second before he put on his patented smirk and slid a little closer. "Oh, so what should the Puckster be calling you?"_

_The girl rolled her eyes. "If that's your way of asking my name, kind of weak….Puckster? Yeah, I totally can't be seen with a guy with a messed up name like that—"_

"_Puck…" he interrupted. When the girl just looked at him blankly he hurriedly added, "Noah Puckerman."_

_She pursued her lips before sighing reluctantly. "Better, I suppose."_

_He waited for her to give him her name but when she didn't__—_just stared at him with that same bored expression_—_Puck rushed to ask her, making sure it was in a more presentable way. "_So what's your name?"_

_The girl looked at him longer and Puck was eagerly waiting for so long that his excitement—and hope—started to disappear._

"_Name's Lauren. Call or miss out on all this," she said indifferently, gesturing down at her body, and Puck quickly took the number from her out stretched hands before she walked away._

_Girl did have the biggest boobs he'd ever seen and Puck looked down at the piece of paper before hastily shoving it into his pocket when he saw Rachel coming towards him._

Puck shook his head, Rachel looking at him curiously. "Nobody."

She looked at him for a moment more and then shrugged. "If you say so, Noah. She can't be any worse than your self-destructive and unhealthy relationship with Santana, so she's already light years ahead in that regard."

Rachel then reached for the coffee they'd both gotten somewhere just outside of Columbus before realizing the cup—and the liquid inside—was ice cold. She placed it back down and picked up the water bottle rolling around on the dash instead. Berry always had this thing for always drinking shit all the time.

Puck watched the sign for Huntsville whiz by and sighed. They'd been playing on the street all weekend and when Sunday rolled around they were still two hundred short. So Rachel made some calls—to her Cousin Leon—and they wound up playing at the club—Leon bartended at during the week—that night. Puck set up while Rachel worked her magic—seriously it was magic—and the boss man agreed to pay what they needed in exchange for them playing a few weekends for free.

Of course, then there was a problem with them getting paid, since the boss disappeared after their set, so he and Rachel had to wait around at Leon's until the guy called them up. When they finally got out of there, Rachel guzzled down a _Gatorade _and half a coffee before she passed out cold. Puck really didn't know what he would've done without her.

He knew getting the chance to be there for his kid wouldn't have happened; he knew that for sure. Somehow, his tiny best friend knew exactly how to handle the big scary—icy—personality of Quinn Fabray without even blinking. Puck really didn't get how Rachel could forgive him if she liked Quinn that much—he reasoned a person could only know another person like that after a lot of watching how they act—and he still hadn't told her the whole story. He didn't think forgiveness came in twos.

Rachel tossed the bottle back onto the dash and moved to roll down the window, tilting her head back as wind swept through her hair.

"Thanks for…you know helping me," he said with a nonchalant shrug to rid himself of his appreciation.

Rachel turned away from the window with a slow tilt of her head. "This weekend was an excellent opportunity to prepare myself for the challenges I'll face performing on Broadway. No gratitude is necessary, Noah."

He was still watching the road but it didn't stop him from joining in on teasing her. "Glad to help. You're welcome to repay the Puckster by lap dance because I know they dance on Broadway too."

She huffed in annoyance but her eyes were sparkling when he managed to glance over. Rachel really was different away from school. More relaxed, less intense…extra fun. McKinley was just a giant sucker of souls and then they both sadly watched the welcome sign to Lima pass them by.

Rachel sighed. "I suppose because of the previous inconvenience I'll have to attend school in my current ensemble. I'm incredibly disheartened that we have to deal with that man for another month. His professionalism is atrocious."

Puck turned to look her up and down flirtatiously. "Babe, you look smokin' and the missing animals on your sweaters is definitely hot. Though, I do miss the skirts. I just don't get why you can't dress like this all the time."

Rachel rolled her eyes—ignoring his leering—and looked down at the distressed tight jeans, thin t-shirt and the green _Converse _on her feet_—_what she wore for the performance. She sighed. "I suppose it's acceptable for one school day and I told you, Noah, such dress is not appropriate for attending an educational institution. One must look their best to fully be able to—"

"…be at their best. You've said, Berry," he interrupted with a shake of his head. "Lots of times."

Puck then pulled into the school parking lot, reluctantly shutting off the engine. He glanced at the clock, happy to see he got Rachel there with a few minutes to spare. The girl was leaning over to grab her things from the back and then turned to look at him.

"Make sure you speak to Quinn before the appointment, Noah. She obviously didn't think you'd be able to fulfill her requirements, so you need to give her a little notice to prepare for you being present." Puck nodded because he was really just planning on finding Quinn and following her there after school. "Also, you're going to have to ask for specifics, since there are two obstetricians in the surrounding area and an open communication with the doctor is always beneficial for all involved."

Rachel then started slipping out of his coat and he quickly reached out to stop her by putting his hand on her arm. "Keep it. My mom would flip if you got sick because of me and I don't need to hear her bitchin' for another week."

His friend huffed, eyes narrowing in her usual disgruntled outrage. "Noah! Talking about your mother that way is extremely disrespectful. I cannot believe—"

"You'll be late if you don't leave now, Berry."

The girl's eyes snapped to the clock before she quickly started grabbing for the door handle. Once safely outside his truck, she shut the door and waved on her way into the school. Puck sighed and sunk further into his seat. He had no interest in showing up for class today, which he suspected Rachel knew because she didn't even try to wait for him. Puck stared out through the windshield for a little while until he saw her getting out of her car. He was quickly out and after her.

"Fabray," he called, the girl came to a reluctant stop in the middle of the walkway, pressing her books to her chest, "we need to talk."

"Why are you talking to me?" she asked indifferently—pretending she didn't even hear what he said—with a blatant glance at the school to show her impatience with him.

Puck smirked because Rachel was right; Quinn was totally expecting him to fail. It was too bad for her that he wasn't the Lima Loser she thought he was. "I got your money, so which of the Chinese guys am I going to?"

Her eyes narrowed like she didn't believe him—which he knew she didn't—so Puck pulled out the envelope of cash and waved it in her face. He watched her track it with her eyes before they rolled disinterestedly.

"Dr. Chen. 4 o'clock," she murmured belatedly before snatching the envelope out of his hands and walking toward the school. Puck was surprised when she turned back. "And make sure you bring Manhands with you as a little reminder that you and I aren't anything at all."

As Puck watched her walk away, he didn't get what the painful pang inside his chest was for.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **_I'm trying my best to update as quickly as possible but RL hasn't been cooperating lately. Hopefully things will settle down soon. Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews, I appreciate every one of them. I hope they keep coming :)_

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**Fifteen**

Taupe. Quinn hated taupe. It reminded her of the cold oppressive fortress that she called home: a home that was decorated neutrally, outlandishly expensive but never making a statement except for the overbearing presence of God. Blatantly placed crucifixes, strategically placed Bibles within reach in every room and religious portraits looming around on every corner, all the little touches that made her home a personal Hell.

This…thing growing inside of her—on top of taking over her body—was drowning her in waves of guilt. Her eyes burned in shame the moment she stepped foot through her house's front door; her chest tightened until she could barely choke back the tears, only letting them out late at night when she was alone and nobody would know. She failed to keep her promises to God, everyday was a constant reminder.

Shaking her head, Quinn's eyes began to wander over the taupe walls that had sent her mind whirling and the unattractive red and blue sail boated wallpaper running around the middle of all four walls. She absently hoped the doctor had better sense than his interior designer did.

To her left was a poster, a smiling couple with a bundle of joy in their arms, a question posed along the bottom to draw interest to the many pamphlets that were lined up underneath.

Are you expecting?

Unfortunately.

Quinn just wanted to close her eyes, wanted to pretend she wasn't waiting for a middle aged Chinese man to oil up her stomach and show her the tiny demon she was incubating inside of her uterus. But, of course, that was when Berry decided to make her entrance, ruining Quinn's chance to let her mind fade away by marching through the door looking not very much like Berry at all.

The jeans, the plain white v-neck tee and Puck's Letterman wrapped around her tiny frame. Berry looked miraculously…normal. Quinn's eyes watched the midget make her way into the room, her attention was all on her phone, so it allowed the blonde a grace period to take in a real life miracle. Not one stitch of argyle in sight.

Then brown eyes glanced up into her own—still offering up all those damn lies—and Berry's face visibly brightened.

"Hello, Quinn. You're especially early, as I made sure we arrived with time to spare." RuPaul busied herself with stuffing her phone into one of the coats pockets before continuing with an embellished wave of her hand. "Noah was equivocally nervous, as I'm sure you could imagine, so I sent him to buy me a beverage to give him time to calm down."

Berry then unceremoniously fell into the seat next to her and started shrugging Puck's jacket off her shoulders until Quinn got a full view of the very thin fabric of the shirt underneath. A dark finely strapped tank top—violet, maybe black or a navy blue—was visible through the white cotton and the blonde hastily bit back her curiosity of what caused the annoying brunette to dress like a normal—over her terrible twos and below the age for a senior citizen discount—person.

"Berry," she grumbled with a blatant roll of her eyes.

Manhands sighed, like she thought her reception would be different this time around, clearly blowing Quinn's demand that she show up way out of proportion. Berry was there because Quinn had no interest in doing anything alone with Puck ever again, especially this. She didn't want anybody looking at them like they were a young couple in love that just made a mistake. Quinn couldn't handle that, not when it was the furthest thing from the truth.

She wasn't in love. Her real boyfriend was a giant tool, literally dull as an unmaintained handsaw. She'd been drunk, feeling alone and ugly and ultimately, she trusted the wrong guy: a manwhore that forgot to use a condom.

Yes, her luck really was that awful.

Quinn didn't want this to be anything more than it was: a nine-month mistake that would make some other family really happy and ruin hers—because it would, it was only a matter of time—and Berry being there was the perfect buffer.

Manhands had a big mouth that she never learned how to shut and had probably showed up with a colour-coded laminated list of questions to ask. Berry would soak up all the attention and there would be no time left to focus on anything else but finding the straitjacket Stubbles managed to escape from.

"Quinn?" Berry asked, looking at her worriedly when she tried to blink her way back to the present. "It's imperative that you fill these forms out before you can go in. Do you need any assistance because I'd be happy to do so? All you need to do is ask."

The blonde looked down at the clipboard resting in her lap, the forms Rachel was currently eyeing were staring back at her totally empty. The receptionist had given them to her when she'd arrived and Quinn had tried to fill them out until she just decided to forget they were there after a while.

"No, I'm fine," Quinn murmured before absently picking up the pen clipped to the top of the board.

She posed the pen to the first line and her brain was calling out the answer—_Quinn_—but her hand wouldn't move. Instead, it just started to shake. The tremors were almost uncontrollable and she clenched the pen in her fist to make sure it didn't tumble to the floor. It was why she'd stopped before and time had obviously not helped her any.

Quinn heard Berry shifting beside her and then tiny hands—admittedly not as manly as she originally thought—were tugging the board away from her lap. The blonde looked up when the hands came back, this time covering her own in an attempt to pry the pen from her grip.

She stubbornly wouldn't give it up—her jaw clenching angrily at the dwarf's presumption that she needed her help—and Berry's face turned exasperated. "Quinn, filling out these forms without an implement to write with is next to impossible. I'm regrettably unprepared, since I haven't been home yet today, and I don't have the luxury of another pen to use. So if you'd kindly let me borrow the one in your hand, we can effectively complete the task at hand and move on."

Berry was looking at her expectantly until she just decided to stare at the pen when Quinn made no move to accommodate her. Finally with a big dramatic huff, the girl got up and stomped toward the receptionist, obviously in search of something else to write with.

Quinn smirked in amusement, as she fiddled triumphantly with the pen between her fingers, trying her best to control the slight tremors in her hands. Then Berry flounced her way back and completely ignored Quinn in favour of filling out the forms.

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing, Stubbles?"

Berry looked up with a confused frown on her face. "I'm filling your name in, Quinn. I unfortunately don't know enough to fill out the entire form, so it would be most helpful if you provided the correct information—"

"No. What makes you think I need your help? I'm fine and I don't need your man hands helping me."

RuPaul sighed then started shaking her head. "If you really want to make such an argument, when I've been seated beside you for long enough to know its false, by all means…" Quinn eyed the clipboard being held out to her and gritted her teeth when it was suddenly pulled back into Berry's lap. "So allergies? Genetic diseases, surgeries or broken bones?"

The blonde looked over and noticed Berry had filled out the majority of the personal information on the form, besides her family doctor and her telephone number. RuPaul was looking at her expectantly, taping the pen against the top of the clipboard to an unrecognizable tune. It wasn't that surprising really. Rachel Berry had music notes bleeding out of her eyes on the rare occasions that her mouth wasn't open long enough to allow them to escape.

Quinn barred her teeth, her voice coming out in a low growl. "Fractured my arm and sprained both my ankles too many times to remember. Are you like stalking me? You are, aren't you?"

Berry looked confused for a moment until her eyes landed on the forms in her lap. Scoffing, she said, "Of course not, Quinn. We've been in school together long enough for these things to be obvious. Besides, this stuff was common knowledge, after Jacob Ben Israel's profile exposés on the popular crowd. Thank heavens Coach Sylvester managed to get him to take it down because such a thing was extremely…"

Quinn wasn't sure if she was happy or not when Puck barged into the doctor's office holding enough drinks to make it seem like he knocked over a vending machine, which in all likelihood he did. His proximity alone was grating on her nerves, but his entrance had stopped Berry's mind numbing drivel in its tracks.

The blonde decided it was a very close draw.

"You didn't see the baby yet, did you?" Puck asked—Berry—quickly with a gruff clearing of his throat when he realized Quinn was there.

"No, Noah," Berry sighed not even sparing a glance up from the forms. "Sit down and give the water to Quinn. Consuming liquids is beneficial before an ultrasound."

Puck did as Berry asked and Quinn took the bottle of water reluctantly, placing it in her lap. "How do you know water is good for this?"

Berry looked up—for once her stupid face was giving nothing away—and she shrugged. "I've been through it before."

Quinn opened her mouth to ask for elaboration—yes, she was well aware how ridiculous that statement was sitting opposite a pint-sized incubator for hot air—but an older woman appearing in the threshold beside the check-in desk calling out her name interrupted.

Berry bounced up in a flash, then Puck and finally Quinn reluctantly stood after. Both waited for her to step in front of them and they followed the woman through one of the many doors in the office.

"Dr. Chen will be right with you. I just want to make sure the forms you filled out are…" she trailed off, the clipboard was jammed into the front of her stomach as she skimmed through the papers Berry had filled out. "Your family doctor, telephone number and the date of your last period. We'll be needing them."

Her stare didn't go unnoticed, since the woman's beady black eyes had been glued disapprovingly to the blonde's stomach the entire time she asked the question. Quinn gave the answers without protest because really she was ashamed too.

"Hey lady," Puck growled lowly and Quinn instinctively slouched down so her chin was resting on her hands, her elbows balancing the teetering tower on her knees. "You got your answers, so leave."

"Yes, your behaviour is most unprofessional," Berry chirped in her familiar flippant tone: big, loud and huffy.

The woman left with a disgruntled mumble about teenage manners but Quinn was busy looking around the room. She had seated herself up on the observation table, Berry took the chair next to it and Puck stood behind his fellow Jew. The blonde's eyes found themselves staring at her feet until the doctor came in.

Berry instantly straightened and Quinn watched as she mentally went through all the questions in her head because apparently she hadn't been home today to pick up her list. Quinn absently wondered just how they got the money—she was sure Berry had more to do with it than the couple bucks Puck would give her from his 'pool' business—and then RuPaul started blabbing. Something had at least gone right for her.

"Hello, Dr. Chen. It's wonderful that you could join us, as previous research into your accreditations was most impressive. I just have a few questions before we start because I fear I won't be able to get answers to the more pertinent questions I have for Quinn's overall care once the appointment officially commences. I'm sure you can understand the…"

Quinn zoned out after that and the doctor already looked overwhelmed to the point of possible murder, so this wouldn't take long—after Berry finally tired herself out of course. The man wouldn't have the patience—or the desire—to take an interest in the girl with the insane rambling midget in her posse.

Stubbles was gesturing wildly with her hands and her face was pinched in concentration, her extra large nose scrunched up and her eyebrows furrowed. Quinn still couldn't figure out what she was doing there. The blonde glanced at Puck's dazed and confused look and was he really worth the hassle?

Quinn certainly didn't think so but for some reason Berry did. She was under no illusions that Berry was there for her because Puck could've knocked up any girl and RuPaul would've still been terrorizing Chen M.D with no questions asked.

What made him so special?

"Miss Fabray?" Quinn twitched at the sound of her name but didn't look over until she heard it again. "Ah, yes, why don't we try to get some tests completed while Miss Berry collects her thoughts, hmm? Mr. Puckerman you'll also be required to fill out some forms and go through some tests that I've arranged for Nurse Bellows to handle but if you'd rather stay with—"

"He can go," Quinn interjected, glaring menacingly at Puck to make sure he didn't disagree.

The boy hesitated; his jaw clenched but Berry quickly defused the situation. "Noah, filling out the forms is the best thing you can do right now while he examines Quinn. You won't miss anything."

In other words, he won't miss seeing the ultrasound. The only reason he was there.

Puck stood up, giving Quinn one last long look before leaving the room. Berry sat a moment longer and then she stood up too.

"Miss Berry," Chen sighed, looking a little tense, "could we wait until the end for more questions because—"

"Oh, not to worry. I was just going to give you two some privacy, since I'd imagine it would be uncomfortable for you Quinn, if I stayed the duration of your examination?"

Brown eyes were on hers and Quinn wasn't sure what she wanted to say. She was nervous—she did kind of want somebody there that wasn't Puck—but Quinn knew she could never admit it. Fabray's were too proud for that.

"It's fine, Berry," she scoffed. "Go practice your Yodel in the hall or whatever it is you do until Puck comes back."

Frowning, Berry just nodded and left without a word and all the way through the exam; Quinn tried her best not to think about regretting it. This devil spawn was just screwing with her for sport now.

Eventually, Berry came back—Chen rightfully looked ready to jump out a window—and Quinn looked away when Puck arrived. His whole face brightened at the sight of the ultrasound machine. Chen was prepping her stomach slowly—under careful instructions not to mess up the uniform—and then Quinn almost didn't want to look when she felt the wand, heard that sound.

Except, Berry gasped excitedly from beside her and Quinn's curiosity got the best of her. She looked to the screen and suddenly the tiny black and white image made everything real.

That was the thing inside of her.

Her baby.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** _So this chapter kind of gets the Glee plot rolling. I'm still not sure who Puck is going to end up with—__Santana, Lauren, Carole (she keeps calling to get her pool re-cleaned after all), somebody completely different or nobody at all—but any pairings or friendships you want to see let me know. Thanks so much for the kind words and I can only hope that they keep coming._

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**Sixteen**

When Noah didn't show to pick her up in the morning for school, Rachel knew that her day was going to be another test of patience. So far most of the days passed were very much the same—dealing with a volatile Quinn and a Noah hell bent on self-destruction—but after the ultrasound, Rachel had instinctively braced herself for the worst.

Precautionary measures were taken after forty-five minutes of frenzied list writing revealed all the possible situations she needed to plan for. Rachel received a ride to school from one of her fathers, left her daily granola bar and juice for Quinn in the girl's locker (with the combination afforded to her after a rather uncomfortable exchange with Jacob Ben Israel) and made sure her phone was fully charged so she wouldn't miss Noah's inevitable call when it came. With such preemptive groundwork done, all that was left to do was to keep an eye on Quinn from afar—since Rachel admittedly had been pushing the girl hard enough lately to offer her a break—and hope that she saw Santana stalking the halls like a rabid panther looking for new prey.

Rachel could only hope it was enough for today at least. Such measures had no hope of holding up very long in the unforeseeable future, a more extensive plan was undoubtedly required, but things were going moderately well for now so Rachel hoped such optimism wouldn't prove to be foolish in the long run.

Sighing, she shut her locker door and started off to her first class, hugging her books to her chest. There weren't many people in her English class when she arrived, just Kurt—who flat out ignored her polite wave of greeting—some people she remembered from the chess club last year—as of yet Rachel still couldn't quite match names to faces—and Finn Hudson: the behemoth-sized boyfriend Quinn cheated on.

Alphabetical seating had placed him in the desk adjacent to her own and Finn had the tendency to alternate between asking her random questions or staring absently into space for majority of the class. Both were scholarly practices that Rachel very much did not approve of but she quite liked that he'd always greet her with a goofy smile the moment he saw her enter the room. It made her feel nice, since she didn't get that kind of welcome very often in the halls of McKinley High, if at all.

Smiling, she sat down—attempting to organize her supplies to ensure for maximum efficiency whilst in class—and like clockwork the boy had a question. "Hey, Rachel. How's it going?"

She considered the question, since the truthful answer would unquestionably be a more than eye opening experience for him, and Rachel didn't hate Finn. In fact, after the few times Noah managed to convince her to hang out with the 'guys' and their somewhat intelligible conversations in English, Rachel decided Finn was a good guy. He might have Quinn, well in name anyway—cheating on somebody didn't exactly scream passionate love—but Rachel didn't hold it against him enough to use everything she knew as leverage to break them up. If she did that, the tentative relationship she'd painstakingly re-built between Noah and Quinn would be broken beyond repair. Rachel certainly didn't condone what Quinn was choosing to do to Finn but unfortunately what was right directly conflicted with her duties as a best friend. She didn't think she could do that to Quinn either, regardless of Noah's interests.

"My day has been progressing as well as can be expected, Finn. Thank you for asking," she supplied, giving him a small smile to hopefully alleviate some of her guilt at redacting the truth, "and how are you fairing so far?"

The boy frowned. "Okay, I guess. Quinn yelled at me again because she said I was being inconsiderate of her feelings or something."

"Oh, that seems…" Rachel wasn't sure actually—since she instinctively sided with Quinn anyway—but once spotting the confused furrow to Finn's eyebrows, she realized she didn't need to be, "what occurred to make her feel that way?"

Finn seemed to brighten at the question—straightening up from his defeated slouch—because he obviously took her interest as an offer to help. There was a small little lopsided grin on his face and Rachel decided that—objectively speaking—she could not deny that it was quite charming.

"I just woke up late and I didn't have time for breakfast so I was hungry, you know?" Rachel nodded, when he looked at her to confirm that she did in fact 'know' for sure, and it seemed to be enough to earn her the rest of the story. "And she had this granola bar sitting in her locker so I thought it would be fine to take it because I was sure I was more hungry than she was, since I eat more than her being a guy and stuff. But then, she went all scary Quinn and I don't see what the big deal was really. It was just a granola bar."

Rachel cleared her throat—fumbling to reorganize her pens vertically on her desk from their previous horizontal position—in an attempt to figure out how to omit the facts she was privy too once again. Thankfully, her previous _Survivor_ training with Noah improved her lying skills tremendously.

"Maybe Quinn previously missed breakfast as well…" she offered, eyes still on her pencils until she remembered how important eye contact was to the duplicity of deceit.

Finn seemed to be thinking her point through—thankfully—and then suddenly, he went ghostly pale. She was internally panicking until he said, "I think I forgot my homework."

Rachel opened and closed her mouth numerous times before thanking Barbra when the teacher walked through the door. She watched him start to write the lesson plan on the board and remembered to also silently thank Finn for letting her know Quinn was at least eating the granola bars Rachel had left. The blonde's eating habits were still suspect; as long as she was still on the Cheerios they could not be trusted.

Finn just continued to look marked for death until the bell rang and while Rachel was leaving for her next class she could just make out Finn's harrowing tale of the dog that ate his homework on her way out the door.

Sighing, Rachel moved down the hall, trying her best to safely weave her smaller stature through the big bodied monsters moving around her. Right before she entered her science class, she caught a glimpse of the hazel eyes that appeared to be watching her. Rachel turned to get a better look but they had already disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

With a small sigh, she turned towards her classroom, only to be stopped dead in her tracks—right outside the door—by an angry glare from Coach Sylvester. Today's track suit was black, her megaphone matched and before Rachel could do anything the woman had already begun raging down the hall, knocking down all unsuspecting victims in her path.

Shaking her head, Rachel continued on through the door and into her seat.

As the day wore on, Rachel's worry about Noah naturally fluctuated in severity, the only reprieve being Santana barking death threats at a passing freshman until the girl ran off in tears covered in the contents of a _Big Gulp_ slushie cup. It was awful to feel relieved—when today was probably one of the worst moments of that poor girl's life—but if Santana was terrorizing the McKinley halls there wasn't any possibility that the tempestuous cheerleader was making the situation undeniably worse with Noah. That had already been bad enough the first time around and Rachel wasn't prepared to deal with such a complication at all.

But by the time she made it to Glee, Rachel was fuming because Noah was nowhere to be found. Ignoring her all day, Rachel could handle—since she expected no less—but the club was already hanging on by a thread and the male lead not showing up put them in even more jeopardy.

She sat seething in the front row as Mr. Schuester made his way in—late—and proceeded to ramble on about the assembly coming up. "Okay guys, this assembly is our opportunity to show the school that Glee is back and we're on the rise. I know singing in front of the school can be—"

"Masochism," Kurt interrupted with a lofty wave of his hand, "without all the fun."

"Su…su…icide," Tina added and everybody nodded, offering their own murmurs of agreement to the words.

Mr. Schuester looked disheartened—already—so Rachel bounded to her feet, a dark and determined glint to her eyes. "Mr. Schue, if I may?"

She reckoned—since he probably wasn't going to add anything concrete in way of motivation anyway—that his permission was just a formality and had already made her way up to the front of the room.

"Hell to the no," Mercedes groaned from her spot beside Kurt in the back, the comment setting the duo off into a fit of giggles.

Rachel was prepared to ignore them and carry on with her speech of carefully crafted inspirational brilliance when her phone shook in her hand. A quick glance was all that was needed to send her to the risers to gather her things.

Turning around, Rachel's eyes landed on a confused Mr. Schuester. "I apologize but my presence is required elsewhere. I have no doubt the assembly will be a success so my absence for today should not have any negative effects in ways of performance. I suggest working on the harmonies in verse two, as I noted they were a little flat during rehearsal yesterday."

Then Rachel quickly left.

Reaching the parking lot took a matter of minutes and Noah was waiting, just like the text had said. Only it seemed to have omitted the black eye, split lip and—by how he was gingerly was leaning up against his truck—injured ribs.

He'd been at fight club.

Wonderful.

"Hey, babe," Noah called out as Rachel approached but catching her disapproving glare he added, "the Puckzilla totally won."

Rachel eyes quickly scanned his person and she came to the conclusion that it wasn't by much, if at all. But then, she suspected that was exactly what he wanted.

"How could attending that ridiculous fight club behind the Stop-n-Go possibly strike you as a good idea, Noah?" she cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "Do you know how irresponsible that is, especially with circumstances as they are? I can not process how—"

"Listen, get off my back about it, alright?" he interrupted, bringing his arms up to cross over his chest but faltering with a painful wince.

Rachel worriedly stepped forward, placing her hand gently on his arm with suddenly tearful eyes. "Are you okay? I knew you showing up like this was a definite possibility after locating Santana in the halls but I—"

"I'm fine, Berry," Noah laughed with a small pained shrug. "Just flesh wounds, baby."

She rolled her eyes but was relieved enough to smile at the outlandish boasting even though it was quite clear he was hurt a lot worse than that.

"What did they say?" she asked, looking up at Noah in a plea for him to put his pride aside to answer her honestly.

Noah sighed. "Maybe a concussion. I got to stay awake and my ribs are fucked…wanna be my doctor, baby?"

Rachel shook her head and reached down to grab the keys from his hand. "I suppose I no longer have the freedom of choice now that I know you are impaired by injury."

Noah smirked and started making his way to the other side of his truck while Rachel mentally went over the first aid kit situation at home. After her daddy's tumble down the stairs last month, it would seem that they needed to make a pit stop for supplies. Rachel just thanked her lucky stars that it wasn't anything to do with Santana.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **_Thanks so much for the kind words and I can only hope that they keep coming. :)_

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**Seventeen**

As pain goes, Puck felt like he was being gutted with a rusty pocketknife. Every time he moved, he could feel that stabbing pain even more than before. Puck really hadn't thought he'd taken that many body shots—and not the good kind with tequila and limes—but he just gritted his teeth and bared it anyway.

He wasn't no pussy and he'd survived way worse. He broke his arm last time but that was when Puck walked around looking for a fight, said the wrong thing to the right people and they kicked his ass. Rachel found him a day later busted up at the park and made him promise not to do it again.

Fight club had doctors and shit there—well some med-student dude with smelling salts to wake you up—so Puck reasoned it was safer than letting some guys toss him in a ditch somewhere. Santana would've been better but he already had one bitchy baby mama too many to risk one more. Besides, if Rachel found out it was more trouble than even Santana's talents were worth.

It was just, fighting made it easier to forget and getting beat the fuck up made things feel a little less big. He won a couple hundred dollars too, which kind of made him feel less like a deadbeat dad with Rachel Berry as his saving grace. The girl that was still—at this very moment—ranting about him being an inconsiderate irresponsible ass as she drove him to her house.

"…see why you continue to do this. While marginally better than enticing drunken rednecks to attack you in defense of whatever it is they value most, I suspect some type of four-wheeled vehicle if half of the contestants at the Lima Fair pie eating contest were anything to go by, but this is still quite ridiculous. Do you remember how hysterical your mother was when you went missing and—"

"Berry," he interrupted, noticeably wincing as he turned toward her, "shut up."

Her scandalized gasp in response didn't far well for the Puckster. Rachel hadn't looked away from the road but he knew she was gearing up for a rant that couldn't be stopped, as opposed to the ones she could be easily distracted from by musicals and pretzels.

"I will do no such thing, Noah Puckerman!" she screeched and his head was pounding even worse now. "I don't understand why you can't focus your energy on doing something constructive with your feelings instead of allowing yourself to get pummeled by a fight club or defiled by Santana Lopez."

Puck tried his best to shrug, even if Rachel's eyes were still on the road. " It's 'cause that's what badass' do, babe and I totally kicked that guys ass!"

Rachel finally turned to look at him—she was way angrier than before, which he figured was understandable—and shook her head. "Right and what happens when somebody kicks yours? Oh, wait, that already happened the last time you found life too tough to handle when your dad left town."

Puck's teeth involuntarily clenched at the mention of his father, but he quickly brushed the feeling off. It was only giving Rachel more ammo anyway, like feeding into her manipulative crazy claws.

"You don't have to worry about me, Berry," he said arrogantly, gingerly flexing his muscles. "I gots a body like Arnold with a Denzel face."

Unfortunately, the joke didn't seem to land like he'd wanted it too—even though that song was totally written about him, no question—and had Rachel rolling her eyes.

"Ah yes, and I'm sure that you're smooth like Barry, and you're voice got bass?" she scoffed before looking back to the road just after the light turned green.

Puck smirked. "Yeah, how'd you know? From seven to seven I've got girls open like _7-Eleven_."

He saw her smiling—and he thought that maybe he'd dodged the bullet by speaking in song, something Rachel lived for—but then the amusement faded away. She just looked anxious after that.

"Noah," she said softly, squeezing the steering wheel tightly through the turn onto her street, "this has to stop, okay? People that care about you… it hurts them to see you like this, especially when your injuries could've been avoided."

He blinked, forgetting about the cut above his eye and finishing the move in a—barely noticeable—wince. "I'm fine, you know?"

Puck didn't say anything else and Rachel sighed as she pulled into her driveway. The truck went silent and she cradled the keys in her lap, both of them staring absentmindedly through the windshield until she started moving.

"Come on," Rachel's voice was even, deadly serious and she had Puck's full attention immediately. "I'll run you a bath. I don't trust you standing for long periods of time with a possible concussion, so I don't want to hear any comments about your tarnished masculinity."

He didn't even make a well-timed innuendo, which he decided she appreciated because she was nice enough to open his door. When Puck finally made it to her bathroom—the stairs were a bitch—Rachel was dumping some stuff in the tub from a jar in her hand. When she heard him, she turned around and gestured behind her.

"All set. I'll knock every fifteen minutes to make sure you're awake and we'll begin wrapping your ribs whenever you're ready, though I suggest staying in there for at least half an hour to fully allow the Epsom Salt enough time to work."

She then placed the jar by the sink and shut the door behind her, leaving Puck to struggle with his clothes. Rachel knew it would kill him if she offered to help because they went through this lots more times than they really should. His dad was a mean son of a bitch when he was around.

The water stung for a little bit because of that salt stuff maybe. His knuckles were pretty ripped up but he needed to put them in the water for leverage when he got into the tub. He gingerly leaned back and sighed. Rachel's bathroom smelled as delicious as her room, like vanilla birthday cake. He was a damn badass but he really liked cake too, like a lot.

His ribs really hurt and his head felt like he got hit with a shovel, yet Puck had thought it was worth it until Rachel told him how it made her feel. She never really said that before, asked him to stop fight club. He thought that maybe she thought it was the better alternative to angry mobs, so she kept quiet. It was like she knew he needed it to 'fight his demons' or something, it definitely sounded like something she'd say. But the look on her face when she told him, Puck knew he needed to find something different to do.

It was just, Quinn wouldn't leave him alone. She was in his head all the time—sometimes with her clothes off and all the time angry—and what he really wanted was for her to leave him alone just for a while.

And then he went to that appointment and at first he wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for until Rachel gasped. There was like a white blob inside of a black shape and it didn't look like much but that was his baby.

His baby.

He never wanted to be a father really, well he didn't think about it or anything. Puck kind of thought he'd never really need too, since there was enough of the Puckster to go around too many times to settle down for a family or some shit. But… that didn't matter anymore because that was what chicks wanted after guys got them pregnant, right?

Rachel was knocking at the door and Puck shifted to face it, splashing water over the side of the tub.

"Noah, I hope you haven't drowned because that clawfoot bathtub was amazingly hard to get shipped to a city that even Ohio hasn't heard of and I'd rather not have to relive your death every time I use it," she called and he shook his head.

"Babe, you've been watching_ CSI_ again, haven't you?"

Puck saw the door shake—she'd probably sat herself down against it like she always did—followed by an overly dramatic sigh. "_Law and Order_. You know _The Who_ have been banned from my general vicinity since the Very Berry Karaoke Party of 2001."

He shivered and cupped his hands under the water to splash up at his face. The cut above his eye stung like a bitch but at least it got his mother and Leroy—after drinking a lot of Strawberry Daiquiris—singing _Who Are You? _out of his head. _The Who_ would never ever be the same after that.

"I'm getting out," Puck mumbled as he brought water to his face one more time.

He then hesitantly hoisted himself up, gritting his teeth at the pain of his ribs until he was finally standing. He managed to wrap a towel around himself and make it to the door to find Rachel sprawled out on the floor behind it, spread out like she got tired making a snow angel.

Again without a skirt, she must've changed.

Damn.

She quickly sat up, giving him a once over—unfortunately not appreciating his manly physique—and then she brought her worried eyes up to his. With her lip between her teeth, she said, "Your ribs look horrible, Noah. Maybe we should ice them first."

Puck shook his head. "Nah, just wrap them and I need one of those things for the cut above my eye."

Rachel reluctantly nodded and stood up, reaching over to her bed to pick up the bag of clothes he always left there. Puck quickly searched through it for sweatpants and pulled them on. Then he sat down on the bed and Rachel started with the first aid.

She was really good at it. If she wasn't such a good singer, Puck thought Rachel could be a doctor easy. Her hands were really soft and it hardly hurt at all, not that it really mattered because he was badass enough to take it.

Puck thought about what he could possibly do to replace fight club because he was sure his mom didn't like it much either. Football kind of sucked when Finn got all whiny when someone else was quarterback—last time he kicked over a lawn chair in Mike's backyard—so maybe boxing or something. They couldn't argue when he wore gloves.

This baby thing was kind of crushing him inside a room with moveable walls. They kept closing in and he couldn't do shit about it. Puck looked after his own, so if that meant an apartment with some nice enough furniture and all that being a family then... he'd have to do it. Puck would work somewhere, maybe as a mechanic or something, and Quinn would stay at home with their kid, exactly how Lima Losers—or guys stupid enough to knock up a chick in high school—lived for the rest of their life.

He owed Quinn that much at least.

"Noah," murmured Rachel, touching his arm to get his attention. "Are you alright?"

Puck looked up at her, Rachel biting her lip. "I'm a dad."

"I know." She squeezed his forearm gently. He really was lost and she said, "We're going to do this together, okay? I have every faith that it will work out in the end. I promise."

Puck did his best to nod and he knew he had to finally tell her everything he remembered about his night with Quinn.

He just didn't know how.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** _Getting back in the swing of things, hopefully it won't take long. For those still reading, I really appreciate you hanging in there through the break. Thanks so much and I hope you review. I'd love to hear what you have to say :)_

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**Eighteen**

Quinn could see Finn's freakishly large head bobbing up and down at the end of the hall like a buoy lost at sea. That dopey grin of his was plastered on his face while a few freshman Cheerios—huddled together in a giggling cluster against their lockers—called out his name with shy waves.

He'd been especially annoying as of late but Finn always was when he felt good about himself. His usual dimwittedness was almost insufferable if he thought he was entitled and when McKinley's abysmal football team somehow won a game, her idiot boyfriend was walking on air.

McKinley loved him—for winning a game against a team Santana (allegedly) infected with Mono—and while normally Quinn wouldn't have a problem with his boost in status, now it only served to remind her of all she stood to lose once she ballooned to the size of the Earth's stratosphere.

Her cheer uniform already felt like it was busting at the seams and normal Finn-like blunders were ten times worse when she was fending off his over-eager advances every second of the day.

Lately, he was really pushing for more. More dates, more kissing, just more of her and she knew it wasn't just because of his new found winner's confidence. Somehow his oblivious nature actually managed to realize she was pulling away from him and Finn's tiny brain's solution was to become a giant human cinderblock around her ankles.

And that was something she didn't need.

Berry was already bad enough.

Slamming her locker shut, Quinn quickly started walking the other way before Finn realized she was around. Her hormonal levels just weren't up to dealing with him today or any other day for that matter. It seemed this…baby was even more annoyed by Finn than she was. Quinn knew she needed to break up with him—though he was dumb enough that she could keep him and lie—she just couldn't give her life up yet. She wasn't ready to let it go.

"Quinn!" The sound made her stomach churn and she silently hoped she wouldn't be heaving into a toilet again sometime soon. "Wait up!"

Finn clambered his way over, closing in on her with giant strides and there was no use in trying to get away anymore now that he was chasing after her. So Quinn came to a reluctant stop, waiting mere seconds until the stifling smell of Finn's cologne bludgeoned her sinuses. Her stomach noticeably clenched and Quinn closed her eyes, desperately trying to control the urge to vomit.

"Finn," she managed to get out as he came to a stop beside her. "Why are you wearing that cologne? I told you it makes me nauseous."

"I know but it's my dad's and I—"

Quinn held up her hand, her stomach churning out one last warning to get away. "I have to go."

Finn started to pout, like a puppy pawing at the backdoor to get in away from a storm. "But Quinn—"

"Assembly," she offered already turning to make a break for fresh air. "Coach Sylvester doesn't like us being late."

Quinn left him there as she sped down the hallway toward the gym. She really hadn't been lying about the assembly. Berry's little club was putting on a show. The creepily attentive Spanish teacher had been boosting about it all week on the morning announcements, begging for members with high-pitched pubescent squeals of glee.

She supposed it wasn't that bad to get out of her last class early to listen to them sing. It was Berry's only redeeming quality after all. Her voice was actually quite extraordinary for somebody the size of a troll doll. Besides, Coach's insistence that the team sit together made it all that much easier to leave school afterward without Finn following.

Santana and Brittany were whispering to each other on the bleachers and Quinn quickly slipped in beside them. She wondered how they managed to beat her there until she spotted the cobweb tangled in Santana's hair.

Quinn reached out to grab it with a roll of her eyes. "Really, S?"

Santana turned to look at her and then the web in her hand. Brittany turned too and the poorly concealed hickey on her neck was even more of a giveaway that Santana had convinced Brittany to make out under the gym bleachers again.

"Whatever, Q," Santana scoffed before turning back to Brittany like it was no big deal.

But it was—to Santana at least.

She hated acknowledging her extracurriculars with Brittany. Santana preferred to pretend none of it ever happened or they did it for guys. Either option was completely ridiculous in Quinn's opinion, especially when everyone knew it was a complete lie.

Figgins clearing his throat into the microphone thankfully distracted her from Santana's stupidity. He said something about the football teams win—again—and when the cheers died down Schuester skipped up to the front to begin another join the Glee Club babble.

Quinn really wasn't interested in his offered membership for social suicide… or a sing-along with Berry so she quickly became bored. She could feel her eyes glazing over through the excited ramble while Coach Sylvester laughed at Schuester's dreams of gleeful grandeur in the seat in front of her. Another club threatened the Cheerios' gazillion dollar budget and Schuester didn't know it yet but he just made a clinically insane enemy for life.

Finally the kid in the wheelchair started playing the guitar and Quinn blinked back her boredom just in time to see Berry and Puck slink up to the front of the stage with microphones in hand. Berry was dancing around Puck, just out of his reach with a playful, almost flirtatious smile while they sung the familiar glam anthem. Puck smirked and moved close enough to grab at Berry's hips, pulling her back until they were molded back to front.

Quinn started to feel flush. Heat was rising from her chest, quickly painting her vision red and she clenched his fists in a desperate attempt to slow it all down. It wasn't stopping though and Quinn's burning gaze zeroed in on the dancing couple until Berry pushed Puck away to skip behind their backup dancers.

She closed her eyes through the collaborative group effort on the chorus, putting the scene out of sight—and hopefully out of mind—because these feelings were not welcome at all. She couldn't keep feeling like this, not when she was already saddled with Puck's offspring for nine months because of it.

But Quinn's eyes didn't stay closed for long. By the next verse, she was reluctantly watching the sickening display with her lip between her teeth. Berry playing hard to get, playing the part of the rebel crush the song was about, their hands all over each other—Quinn's teeth dug a little deeper into her lip in response.

Berry sang the last verse, almost like she was throwing Puck's words back in his face and then it was over. Everything was silent. Schuester's motley crew stood waiting for a reaction until Puck shrugged and walked off the stage, dragging Berry with him. Schuester looked ready to cry and Figgins awkwardly ended the assembly with a slow clap that nobody joined in on.

It was apparent that Glee was officially dead, even if the performance was actually half decent without the disturbing dance routine. Nobody that mattered wanted to stand up and admit it so kids started to leave. Coach Sylvester strode over to heckle a devastated Will Schuester and Brittany told Santana that _Rebel Rebel_ was on Lord Tubbington's work out playlist. Quinn watched as Puck pulled a willing Rachel Berry out the gym door before quickly looking away.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **_I was blown away by the feedback for the last chapter. I appreciate every word, thank you :)_

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**Nineteen**

The Mini Mango was delicious, Rachel decided—another smoothie down in her quest to try them all. She would have a perfected smoothie recipe by the time she was famous with an assistant that could make it for her. Since she didn't foresee any outlandish demands for anything else, Rachel reasoned it was only fair.

Noah had bought the drink for her on their way to an early Glee meeting—their first since the less than successful performance at the assembly. Though, Rachel was positive the song was tailored perfectly for her and Noah both, Glee's unpopular stigma within the school seemed to have still hindered them at lot more than she'd expected.

The music room was empty; nobody had arrived yet except for her and Noah. He was drinking deeply from his large cup of coffee and his eyes were fixed permanently on the floor. Rachel knew he hadn't slept—probably stayed up all night until he arrived early to pick her up—and his quiet, smoothie giving personality this morning could attest to that. She just hadn't figured out why yet.

Frowning, Rachel's eyes gazed down at the cup in her hand and she absently fiddled with the straw, drawing tiny stars in her smoothie until they sunk away.

"I believe mango has made it into the top five of my potential flavours list," she said softly before beaming at the accomplishment.

"Berry, you like that pineapple shit in it, not just the mango. I told you that last week with that other one, remember?"

Rachel swallowed down the need to reprimand him for his awful language, since he already looked bad enough. She could feel Noah's eyes on her so she glanced his way instead. The unrest on his face seemed ten times worse under the bright fluorescent lighting in the music room. She wanted to hazard a guess and say the cause was the baby, but it was poor craft to rely on conjecture and her sixth sense was adamant that it was something more than that.

"I suppose," she looked down at her cup with a small frown, "it is possible that I was unwittingly bamboozled with my favourite fruit."

Noah shook his head—clearly underestimating pineapple's way of making everything delicious—as the other Glee members started shuffling through the door. Kurt and Mercedes came in looking primped and zebra stamped respectively. Both were seated in chairs far away from Rachel's by the time Artie and Tina made their way in. Mr. Schuester was late—again—and while usually Rachel would take this opportunity to impart her copious amounts of theatrical knowledge to the club free of charge, she just didn't have any interest in attempting such a thing today.

Glee teetering on the brink of destruction was obviously very low on her list of priorities nowadays. Sure, she momentarily couldn't catch her breath in the absence of her audience's applause but Noah pulling her away—and seeing Quinn staring at her in the crowd—reminded Rachel of the more pressing issues at hand.

The steady decline of Noah's demeanor, since he'd shown up after fight club.

Quinn seeming more aloof than usual—looking almost dead on her feet—with Finn Hudson not far behind.

The fact that even with Noah's fight club winnings they were still nowhere close to the amount of money it would take to finance a pregnancy.

Even the performances she owed her Cousin Leon's unprofessional boss seemed more important than the Glee club at the moment.

It was almost incomprehensible to Rachel that the existence of a club that was perfectly tailored for her star to finally shine didn't really matter to her anymore. Not since a scared hazel eyed girl locked herself in a bathroom stall, not since Rachel recognized how much caring for this baby meant to Noah, not since she saw their faces during the ultrasound did she realize that helping both of them made her feel more special than being a part of Glee ever would.

"Sorry I'm late, guys!" Mr. Schuester strolled into the room, tossing his beaten leather satchel lazily up on the top of the baby grand. He quickly looked around and smiled when he saw everybody was there. "I'm glad you all came because I still really think we have something here guys and I think—"

"Excuse me, correct me if I'm wrong," Kurt waved his hand loftily and Rachel silently commended him of his proper use of the dramatic pause, "but you didn't have to survive the sheer humiliation of getting laughed off the stage, Mr. Schue." Kurt then uncrossed his legs and stood, making even strides to the front of the room until he was standing in front of them all. "I say we call a spade a spade and just admit that our merry band of misfit sopranos was almost good while it lasted."

"But guys, we can't just give up!" cried Mr. Schue, looking around for somebody to agree with him.

He just blatantly kept staring at her after a while and Rachel found herself a little angry that he was so desperate to pawn off his responsibility onto her. That was until Noah stood up, knocking Kurt out of the way with an intentional bump of his shoulder against Kurt's. When Noah turned on the group, Rachel knew this pep-talk would be pretty much disastrous.

"This group is never gonna win anything because you're fuckin' spineless. One bad thing happens and you all just wanna quit. I joined this stupid club for Berry and everyday I get shit for it. That's just the way things go around here, it's never gonna change. You're all losers; get the hell over it already."

Noah turned to walk out and Kurt immediately jumped out of his way, leaping an exaggerated five feet back with a hand pressed to his chest. Rachel sighed—once again curbing the urge to scream her distaste for his atrocious language—and quickly moved to follow Noah out.

Only just barely managing to remember her manners, she turned back. "I'm definitely enthused for next week, Mr. Schue. I'm sure, as our fearless leader, you'll be able to find enough members for us in no time."

Her teacher seemed upset at the news that she wouldn't be helping him like he originally hoped. Rachel smiled brightly and sped off down the hall after Noah. Her small stature had her trailing far behind by default, so Rachel just attempted to keep him in her sights until he finally slowed down.

She caught up to him on the football field. He was standing in the middle of the large McKinley logo staring at the giant goal posts. Rachel silently cursed the freshly watered grass, trying her best to hop around muddy puddles to save her new checkered flats.

"The football team is shit, Berry," Noah laughed and Rachel came to a stop a step behind him.

She nodded to agree. "Absolutely dreadful."

"I used to think that it was the only way I could get out of here. That's why I went along with the secret friends thing freshman year." Rachel stood listening, biting her lip to keep her natural inclination to talk under wraps and then Noah turned to look at her. "But then my mom bitched me out about it and I said I was stopping the slushies and stuff 'cause I wanted her to shut up but I wasn't."

Rachel's arms hugged her torso and she smiled softly. "I'm aware of that, Noah. Despite your claims of being deeply mysterious, defensive, withholding and emotionally locked down you're exceedingly easy to read."

"Whatever, Berry. You know nothing." Noah frowned, clearly taking offense to his would-be badass-ness being called into question, and then he sighed. "I'm badass, okay? Look at my guns!"

He flexed his arms and Rachel rolled her eyes. "Your arms have always been lovely. I believe I've said that numerous times before."

Noah slowly dropped his arms, seemingly satisfied with the sentiment, until his face morphed into a another frown. Rachel didn't know where she went wrong and was quickly turning the reel back in her mind when he said, "We just… we need to be friends, okay?"

"We are friends, Noah," Rachel said slowly because clearly she was missing something and Rachel Berry hated not being in the loop. "Is there any reason why you'd think we wouldn't be?"

When she watched his face crumple, Rachel knew he'd done something. Immediately, Santana's angry face flashed through her mind but Rachel was sure that wasn't it. The psychotic cheerleader would've been smirking at her over the past week instead of glaring at her like a rabid panther as she prowled the halls. But there was nothing else it could've been because she would've noticed fight club—

"I didn't forget everything about that...night with Quinn."

He ran a shaky hand over his mohawk—after uncharacteristically censoring himself—and then stared at her with nervous eyes. Rachel's heart skipped a beat and the way he was looking at her, she knew it was bad. She almost decided not to ask but after everything she did to Quinn in Noah's name, Rachel knew she had too.

"What…please share what you omitted previously."

Rachel's arms felt like they were crushing bones as they wrapped tighter around her stomach.

"I was drunk and I wouldn't have…" She glared and Noah swallowed loudly, looking absolutely ashamed of what he said next. "I remember her saying no but she didn't push me away so I kept—"

"Stop," Rachel whispered, holding her hand up between them. Noah seemed to be thinking about stepping forward and Rachel took a giant step back. "Do you have any idea what I made her… I have to go."

She imagined Noah looked as terrible as she did because what he just told her, well Noah would never be proud of that. Rachel knew she should stay, at the very least say something more than she did but it wasn't possible. Not after everything she'd done, what she'd forced Quinn into for Noah's sake.

Him calling her name barely registered in her mind at all as she walked off the field.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **_So I told myself that I'd update all my fics and the chapter with the most reviews is the fic I would focus on most. Of course, I only gave All She Wanted a two day chance but this kind of wrote itself, so I guess it doesn't count lol. Thanks for all the support for this. It's my favourite fic out of the four I write and reviews for this fic always mean the most._

_Oh and I like Sam better than Matt, so he's here just because...and all those reviewers that continuously plead for Faberry. Rachel and Quinn's chapters involve each other from now on for a while at least, since Puck is kind of... well you'll see._

_Enjoy:)_

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**Twenty**

Time stood still at a moment like this. Standing at the edge of a cliff, fear stabbing at his insides—should he run and jump or play it safe and take the long way down to the ground? They were questions without answers and his fingers tingled with the itch to pull the trigger—to fly off the cliff and hope that his feet landed on the other side.

Life wasn't worth living if it wasn't done recklessly so Puck quickly pulled the joystick back before slamming it forward, attempting to push the tricky 'AB' combo that would get his player to jump and failing horribly when his man fell to his death.

Fuck.

"Dude!" he heard from beside him but this was bullshit anyway.

He tossed his controller at Sam and reached over to the cooler for another beer.

Puck cracked open his new can and tipped it back until it was half empty. "Whatever, man. Like your dumb ass could do better."

It was bro's night and not the Rachel Berry kind. She hadn't talked to him since she left his ass on the football field. Puck tried calling and showing up at her house but really he knew there was nothing he could do this time. She had good reason to give him the deep freeze but he still wished that she'd at least talk to him.

"Kinda harsh," Mike laughed after passing off his controller to Finn. "What's up with you lately?"

Puck scoffed. "What's up with you asking about my feelings like some chick? You need to get laid, man."

He gulped down the rest of his beer and crushed the can in his fist. Puck then tossed it at Sam's head, laughing when it bounced off his girly dye job locks and distracted the guy enough for him to die.

"What the hell?" Sam cried and chucked the can back at him, something Puck easily dodged. "Not cool, dude."

Puck shrugged. "Totally was."

"Fuck off, man."

Sam restarted the game and Puck waved off Finn's controller because he sucked right now with all the shit on his mind. He just wanted to drink and though he knew it wasn't a good idea—somewhere deep down, he was sure it was there—it was the only thing he could do right now to get his brain to stop.

"So you bag that Crystal chick yet, dude?" he asked Mike, already fishing through ice for another beer.

Mike froze and then quickly shook his head. "Nah, I got my eye on somebody else and Karofsky's sayin' he went a round with her last week, so I'm stayin' far away from that."

Sam laughed. "Yeah right. Karofsky didn't get anywhere near that. Guy's all talk, just like Hudson."

"Dude, not true!" Finn yelled and then died when he tossed the controller on the couch in outrage of the truth because Sam wasn't lying.

Finn was probably the only guy left on the team that hadn't gotten any—besides Karofsky—and everybody knew, especially now that he was dating Quinn. Puck frowned and took a long pull on his drink.

Finn's face just got redder and Sam's taunting continued. "Okay, man, whatever you say."

"I totally got with that chick that moved away last year," when nobody offered anything at his lie, Finn added, "Amy, remember?"

"Yeah the girl that conveniently moved away," Sam laughed—followed by Mike—and Finn kicked at an empty chip bag on the floor.

Puck cut in before Finn started pouting. "So Mikey, who's this girl you're after?"

The guy quickly stopped laughing and he actually looked a little afraid. Puck didn't know why but maybe he liked this girl more than he'd liked Crystal. Mike was kind of weird like that with girls sometimes.

"I think that Tina girl in the Glee club is pretty hot. She's kinda with Artie so… I don't know."

Puck looked confused. "Artie? He's the one on wheels right?"

He hung around with that goth chick the most. The gay boy was the only other guy to choose from besides Spanglish, who was always too up in everybody's business for an adult but...no, for sure it had to be the wheelchair kid.

"Man, aren't you in that club? How don't you know?" Mike asked and Puck shrugged because he really wasn't that good with names. He had thought about hitting that Tina chick before though but decided any member of Glee would not be worth the Rachel hassle.

"You don't know how boring it is in there." Watching that Spanish guy wet his pants when talking Disco was complete torture and they just didn't know how horrible it was. "Usually I just fall asleep with my sunglasses on."

"Yeah, you're way better than that Artie guy anyway, dude." Sam tossed Mike his controller. "Maybe we should join Glee too… that Mercedes girl is kind of hot. Nice boobs for sure."

Puck's eyes widened.

Mercedes.

That was the car's name. He couldn't believe he didn't think of that.

"Rachel's hot too. Her ass is awesome," Finn blurted out, looking pleased with himself until a burst of angry comments followed, the loudest being Puck's.

"What the fuck, man?"

Finn looked shocked—and a little worried—and Puck felt Sam tensing beside him just in case he needed to jump in to hold Puck back.

Which he didn't have to until Finn opened his mouth again. "What? I think she's hot, dude. Just 'cause you're her friend doesn't mean you can get all mad at me for liking her. She's my friend too."

Puck jumped up from the couch, Sam quickly followed and Finn managed to figure out that he should probably stand too shortly after that. Puck just couldn't believe Finn would go there, knowing how good of friends him and Rachel were—even with everything that happened over the last while—and the guy was dating Quinn, somebody who Puck had already hurt enough. She didn't need Finn's dumb ass making it worse. Puck felt angry enough to kill him.

"You're with Quinn, man and talking like that about Rach isn't cool," Sam tried but it obviously didn't get to Finn in time because he was talking again.

"Yeah but I'm thinking about breaking it off. She's kind of playing too cold instead of hot lately. It's just too hard to keep up and Rachel's not like that."

Puck heard Mike laugh at the comment—because he knew Rachel was gay—but it wasn't enough to slow him down. He had a step on Sam and hit Finn in the jaw before getting pulled back. Mike was there too pushing him away from Finn, who was knocked to the ground on impact.

"Dude, what the hell?" Finn screamed and jumped up, checking for blood with his finger tips.

Puck knew there was some because his knuckles had hit hard enough to get beaten up. This was stupid, kicking Finn's ass would be too easy to make him feel better. He needed to get out of there.

He pushed the guys off of him and they moved to stand between him and Hudson. "Fuck this shit. I don't need it."

Puck reached the midnight air and it whipped at his face. Nobody came after him and he felt like he needed somebody but not anybody in there. He pulled out his phone to call Rachel because he needed her—she was his friend and he needed her.

The call went straight to voicemail.

Well who gives a fuck then?

He was only four blocks from Santana's and she'd always take his call with a damn smile on her face.

Puck dialed as he walked.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **_I wanted to get this up before my birthday... because if I waited until after it probably wouldn't have gotten done for a while lol. Thanks so much for the kind words and I can only hope that they keep coming. :)_

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**Twenty-One**

Quinn felt like she was floating, surrounded by a thick liquid, almost like molasses but as black as night. It ate away at her skin, not hurting but invading her body to take it hostage to its evil. The sensation was almost comforting—the direct pressure of a needle piercing her skin without the sting—so she didn't fight back. Quinn found herself giving up control to the substance, just closing her eyes as she sunk deeper into its depths.

The liquid had made it to her lungs, stealing her breath and leaving her gasping for life. It burned as it rose through her throat, spilling out of her mouth and rising up, towering over her as if a wave ready to knock her down all over again. It glistened like the edge of a blade, standing building-sized stories high and then it dove down, barreling into her chest, puncturing the walls of her heart. She could slowly feel her life fading but she didn't fight it. Quinn realized she really didn't want to and she waited, just feeling so incredibly tired as her heartbeat slowed, her body rocking back and forth with the rhythm of the tide.

She was ready for whatever came next, but then it stopped.

The pressure lessened, her watery grave disappeared and Quinn was left staring up at rapidly forming russet swirls whirling together above her. The reeling sky came closer to her until it was an inch away. Fear finally enveloped her and she tried to move away but the sky was just so hypnotizing as it fell towards her.

Quinn yelled as the chocolaty swirls finally engulfed her, pitching her body into white-hot burning heat. Objects slammed into her, thin blades sliced her skin with unforgiving blows and Quinn waited for the end, hoping it would get there soon.

When it did, she slumped up against her headboard, breathing heavily in her bedroom. Her alarm clock showed seven o'clock and Quinn slid down deeper under the covers.

Half an hour and then she'd get up. Those weird dreams, the Cheerios, morning sickness—she was just so tired.

Oh God, speaking of…

Quinn quickly darted into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Throwing up never got any easier—even with all the practice being pregnant had given her—especially for Quinn who never handled being sick very well. It was just another reminder of how alone she was, when her father would tell her to buck up and her mother would hand her some pills and send her on her way.

Rinsing her mouth with water, Quinn weakly dragged herself toward the shower, stripping off her nightgown as she went. Finn would be there soon to pick her up, since he couldn't exactly curl up at the bottom of her bed and cuddle her feet through the night, being on her doorstep every morning was obviously the next best thing.

It honestly made her want to cry… or stab him with a steak knife.

And as she opened the door to see his giant body teetering on her front porch, her mother's antique candlestick holder was looking mighty inviting for bludgeoning him to death. That was until she smelled that awful cologne.

"Finn," she sighed and pushed him out of her way as she moved passed him for the fresh air near his car.

Quinn heard him stumble after her and now she really did feel like bursting into tears. He just wouldn't leave her alone. Even Berry stopped harassing her, why couldn't her dimwitted boyfriend?

"Hey, Quinn, I really miss you, you know?" Finn babbled and Quinn could feel another mood swing on the horizon because she didn't quite understand how he could miss her after stalking her for all hours of the day. "Do you think maybe we could go on a date tonight? It's Friday and well we haven't done stuff together for a while... so I think we should. We could go bowling or something."

Her daddy's giant stone lion—the one that he had doubles of and used to decorate the tops of the pillars framing the bottom of their driveway—was looking super enticing all of the sudden. It was too bad she couldn't lift it, well maybe. Quinn never really tried when she was annoyed to high heaven and fueled by her new wacky Anti-Finn hormones.

She edged towards it but quickly thought better of it and turned back to Finn. "Sorry, I can't. Busy with the Cheerios. Coach has us working out a new routine this weekend."

His shoulders slumped and he nodded. That's when Quinn noticed his fat lip and the nasty bruise on his jaw. Somebody had hit him but he was still there—with his stupid face and orangutan arms—so they obviously hadn't hit him hard enough. Quinn glanced one more time at the lion before slipping into the passenger side of Finn's car and the rancid odor of the football equipment in the back made her want to cry all over again.

The drive to school was a long one. Finn spent the time brainstorming—out loud—all the things the football team could spend their lunch hour crushing against their heads and Quinn found it useful to plot his murder to take her mind off the nauseating smell churning her stomach. She all but ran to her locker just to get away from him when they arrived.

Only someone was there waiting for her in a hideous bumblebee coloured argyle ensemble. Well Berry was standing in front of her own locker—a few lockers away—but it was obvious she was waiting for Quinn. Her dumb lying eyes were looking right at her and Berry pounced the moment Quinn got her locker open.

"Good morning, Quinn." Quinn already felt like punching her but refrained. "I was wondering if we could speak? It will only take a few minutes but what I have to say is of upmost importance and—"

"No, I don't think so." Quinn started pulling the proper folders from her locker with listless ease.

Berry huffed at the brush off—or being interrupted Quinn wasn't sure—but definitely wasn't deterred. "Please Quinn. I know this goes against our deal but… just please. I assure you it won't take long."

The pleading was new and had Quinn looking at her, trying to figure out the hidden angle. Berry never did anything without some ulterior motive, usually for her own personal gain until lately anyway. She certainly looked desperate though—her eyes were red and pleading, her posture was slumped—not as determined as the last time she'd cornered Quinn in the hall.

Still, Quinn didn't have time for appeasing Berry's crazy because she could smell that paint peeling cologne as it wafted closer and closer with every second.

Her stomach revolted and Quinn hastily slammed her locker shut. "My answer is still no, Berry. I'm sure the crossing guard could use your eyesore of a wardrobe to help stop traffic, so you should really run along. You wouldn't want to be late."

She started walking away but Berry actually grabbed her wrist to stop her. Quinn gritted her teeth and whirled around, ready to make the girl regret it until she saw her face, actually the beginnings of tears.

"I understand," Berry whispered, looking down. "I just wanted to apologize for everything. I didn't know, I promise I had no knowledge of what occurred during your night with Noah. If I had I wouldn't—"

"Shut up, RuPaul," Quinn hissed and quickly pushed the girl flailing into the Astronomy room once again.

The room was only ever in use in the afternoons because McKinley (unofficially) counted all sciences as compulsory electives and only employed one teacher for the entire department, giving the rest of the budget to cheerleading and football. With only one teacher, sciences were never slotted simultaneous in the schedule and Biology was always first for reasons that were never really known.

"Quinn I… you are in here with me, aren't you?" There was some shuffling and then obviously more talking. "You didn't just push me in here and lock the door… Quinn?"

The lights were off and they were standing in the dark so Quinn flipped them on. Berry looked like a pitifully sad bumblebee, biting her lip and trying to stop the tears.

Quinn sighed. "What do you want, Berry?"

The girl's head snapped up the moment she was addressed but Berry still seemed unsure. It was beginning to get totally creepy because being annoyingly confident in the face of danger was what Berry did best. Still, the blabbermouth couldn't be stopped for long.

"As I've said, I want to apologize for forcing my will upon you without all the proper information. I knew something was amiss but I was guilty of ignoring it to further my own agenda. I'm truly sorry and I—"

"What's your angle?" Quinn interrupted because she knew there was one and letting Berry work herself up into a tizzy was a big waste of time at this point. "You'd never apologize unless you wanted something from me. So what is it? My skin to add a miniature flesh vest to your already hideous closet?"

Berry frowned and Quinn was mentally patting herself on the back for deflating Stubbles' plans until she realized that the indignant stomping and mouth flapping—that usually followed the destruction of any Berry sanctioned operation—hadn't come.

Instead, the girl just continued to look sad and when her eyes sought out Quinn's—incredibly desperate.

"I have no ulterior motives, Quinn. I assure you." Brown eyes were pleading with her to accept the words as true but Quinn just looked away at Jupiter again because Berry's ego being creepily nonexistent made that papier-mâché ball the biggest thing in the room to reasonably stare at. Berry didn't let that stop her though. "Noah shared the details of that night with me and I wanted—"

"What?" she stuttered, eyes involuntarily darting back to the ones that were still full of lies.

As she relayed the Berry rant back, her blood ran cold because Berry couldn't possibly know. Quinn had made sure with the drinking and there was no way Puck remembered anything—he couldn't have.

Berry started talking again with those damn soft chocolaty eyes. "I know he failed to listen to your wishes and took advantage of your intoxicated state and I—"

"Wait," this time Quinn hadn't interrupted to intentionally piss Berry off because honestly it almost sounded like… "are you insinuating that Puck attacked me?"

Berry's eyes widened and she was quickly shaking her head. "Well… no, not in those words exactly," the girl then suddenly froze, biting her lip nervously as she looked up at Quinn, "unless such a thing did occur then…"

"God, no Stubbles," Quinn yelled, eyes narrowing at the thought. "Why would you… actually I really don't want to know. Are we done here?"

She honestly wondered why she was asking. Berry always did this to her, always threw her out of sorts with her crazy rambles and blatant disregard for every single thing Quinn valued most. Status, reputation, acceptance… none of it mattered to Berry unless it was lyrics to a song, perfectly tailored for her voice of course. But really, who the heck was fine with not being liked?

Berry frowned. "Quinn, from what Noah said, it didn't sound like—"

"I don't care what he said, Manhands." Quinn's small bubble of patience officially popped. She didn't want to talk about Puck anymore, not that night or all the outlandish assumptions Berry's psychosis had came to. "I'd also appreciate if you didn't sit around and talk about my sex life to fill in the enormous gaps in your loser life."

Berry sighed, looking frustrated. "I see you have no desire to talk about it, which is understandable. Just know you can always do so with me because such a situation has never occurred, at least not when I knew he was talking about you specifically and we certainly aren't talking anymore so there is no need to worry."

Quinn inwardly cursed because this wasn't supposed to happen—it couldn't happen, not now. She needed them to be friends, so Berry stuck around. As much as she loathed admitting it, Quinn needed her help. She need her doing whatever she'd been doing over the past couple months because Quinn couldn't do this by herself.

"What? I thought you two were best friends forever," she muttered with a slow nervous roll of her eyes.

Berry wrapped her arms around her own torso and looked down. "Not lately."

"Well why not?" Quinn growled, eyes narrowed at the mere thought. "Honestly, you can't really afford giving up your only shield from complete loserdom as easily as that."

Brown eyes snapped up, looking surprisingly angry. Quinn really felt like punching her because of course Berry would decide to get indignant the moment Quinn was actually trying to do something sort of nice.

"Noah and I have engaged in this argument many times over the course of our friendship but this time it is undoubtedly more serious. You might not see what went on that night as a reason to 'give up my only shield to loserdom' but I certainly do. Nobody should be forced into a situation where saying no is worthless."

Quinn swallowed as dark chocolate eyes bore into her own. She bit her lip—looking away to Jupiter once again—as her stomach bottomed out with an awkward lurch. This wasn't supposed to happen, she just wanted to feel something else that night and Puck was…

"Berry I didn't—"

"I'd rather not continue conversing about Noah because he isn't the reason I'm here." Hazel eyes flickered over as Berry stepped towards her, looking sad, almost contrite. "You keep interrupting me before the end of my apology and I just wanted to apologize for forcing you to confront your pregnancy through underhandedness that effectively took your right of choice away."

Quinn looked away again. "You don't need to do this…"

"Though I was just in my intentions, the effect is not something I'm proud of, especially with the knowledge I've recently acquired about Noah's actions." Of course, Berry went on not paying her words any mind, ignoring them, as she continued to babble. "I never want to be culpable in forcing anybody to involve themselves in something their not ready or favourable in doing, so I hope you can forgive me. This is something that I can promise will not happen again."

Brown eyes were staring at her, she could feel them but didn't look away from the muddled swirls of her new favourite planet. There were things she should say because obviously Puck hadn't been drunk enough to forget everything about that night. Quinn wanted to say something—anything—but her mouth remained shut tight.

Berry sighed and silently nodded, leaving Quinn standing under the cardboard stars and planets in the Astronomy room.

Quinn watched her go with a frown on her face.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **_First thanks to those people that offered birthday wishes. I tried to respond to all of them but just in case I forgot a few, I really appreciate you taking the time to do so. My birthday was great... lots of ice cream cake and balloons. There was alcohol too, so what's not to love? ;)_

_Anyway, I've had a lot less free time lately so this was written in bunches, which is something I don't tend to do. I'm hoping it turned out okay... if not I'm sure you'll let me know lol. Thanks so much for the kind words and I can only hope that they keep coming. _

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**Twenty- Two**

Not speaking with Noah left Rachel without a ride to school in the morning. Sure his truck stalled at speeds over sixty in cold weather—and smelled like old socks and Christmas tree air fresheners—but it was convenient for the budding Diva on the go when she was without a car of her own. Don't get her wrong, her fathers had offered but at the time financing theatre camp in San Diego seemed more beneficial in cultivating her potential for superstardom than picking out a new aquamarine Hybrid to drive around Lima in.

So maybe it was luck that her dads were out of town—working as usual—which effectively left their car unattended and just waiting for Rachel to use. She rather liked being driven around—as the way of the Diva—but desperate times left her no room to be choosy.

Disarming the alarm, she whipped open the door to her daddy's _Lexus_, just wanting to get home. Her apology to Quinn didn't exactly go as she'd hoped, since she'd once again forgotten to plan anything passed her initial approach. It was a little disheartening that this—coupled with a massively embarrassing crashing and burning—was becoming a regular occurance when faced with Quinn Fabray.

Rachel had just tossed her bag into the back seat when she heard a car pull up behind her, not turning around until they honked to vie for her attention.

Mike Chang was grinning at her from inside his parent's mini van. "Rach, wanna grab some coffee?"

She didn't really but refusing would be rude, especially when Rachel hadn't spent any time with Mike since Noah wanted to egg Kurt Hummel's house last month after the boy had questioned the validity of Noah's barely there mohawk. They were positioned as look out and get away driver—respectively—and played _Mario Kart_ in the car while they waited for Noah to quench his thirst for vengeance with Finn and Sam.

Rachel smiled. "I suppose I could."

"Great!" Mike leaned over to unlock the passenger door with a quick flick of his wrist. "Hop in and I'll give you a ride. I wanna talk to you about something on the way."

Sighing, Rachel shut her car door and armed the alarm. Mike waited until she was buckled in safely in the seat beside him and then the van lurched forward, starting the fifteen-minute drive to the Lima Bean.

Two minutes into the ride—spent in complete silence—Rachel turned towards him, waiting on whatever it was that was on his mind, but Mike still seemed to be very immersed in the minimal traffic on the roads. Guys, they were all alike, Rachel decided as she rolled her eyes.

"So… what did you want to talk about?"

Mike's glanced over at her with a sheepish grin before looking back at the street. "Sorry, I'm just… well I'm more of a listener than a talker."

Rachel laughed, leaning back until she was snuggled further into the seat. "I know this, Michael Chang. It's why I keep you around, since I myself have an unparalleled gift for the gab."

Mike's voice cracked as he sang, "Because we go together, just like jam and bread or maybe birds of a feather."

"You're undoubtedly fortunate that you possess the ability to dance," she deadpanned, desperately trying to hold back a smile by sinking her teeth into her lip.

Mike cleared his throat, flashing her a grateful smile. "Thanks for breaking the ice, Rach." He fell silent for a moment before he said, "I really like Tina, you know that girl in your Glee Club? I just think that she'd be able to understand me… not just the Asian stuff but the other stuff too."

"You mean your fondness for Japanese boy bands?" Rachel offered with a questioning tilt of her head.

Mike shook his head. "Nope, that's still Asian stuff."

"Oh, so you hiding your inclination for dance and everything geeky with contacts and football?"

He nodded, looking miserable at the mere mention of his extra special secret life full of collecting classic Japanese Anime and breeding for the ultimate team of unbeatable Pokemon. While they might've met through Noah, their shared experience with living with secrets—not quite feeling comfortable in their own skins because they could never quite be themselves—quickly blossomed their acquaintanceship into a friendship. That and she was effortlessly drawn to talent—an admitted talent whore if you will. Excuse the language.

Rachel tried not to laugh at his face but ended up giggling by the time they pulled into the Lima Bean parking lot.

"You suck," he muttered before getting out of the van with a huff.

Sighing, she quickly jumped out after him. When Rachel caught up, she grabbed Mike's arm and pulled him to a stop. "Tina will be lucky to have you and I'll be happy to assist you if so needed."

He smiled and Rachel returned it while absently thinking that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to add another task on to the top of her already unstable obligation tower. Yet it was quickly forgotten the moment the smell of coffee beans wafted to her nose as they stepped through the coffee shop's door. Mike led her to a table off to the side of the stool-laded coffee bar, a table where Sam just happened to be waiting.

A smoothie was slid in front of her blatantly to bribe. Sam and Mike's bright and smiling faces—as she accepted the cup—could only mean they wanted something from her, something Rachel was certain she wasn't going to like.

The two boys glanced at each other—both seated side-by-side on the bench seat across from her—and then Sam needlessly waved a greeting, grinning self-consciously when he realized his blatant faux pas seconds later.

"Sorry," he laughed, twirling his coffee cup in his hands. "Hey, Rachel."

Her eyes cut over to a nervous and fidgety Mike before settling back on Sam. "I wasn't aware you'd be joining us too, Sam."

Both guys shrugged, glancing at each other again until Mike hurriedly added, "Well, we knew you wouldn't come—"

"Because it would seem like we were ambushing you—"

"Which were not," Mike cut in and Sam's eyes widened, his shaggy locks swaying in agreement as he started rapidly nodding.

"Yeah," he frantically exclaimed, astoundingly loud for a non-descript conversation in an already bustling coffee shop, "definitely not."

Mike seemed to agree—his eyes darting between both she and Sam—as he began nodding too. "We just wanted you to… come with an open mind, so you'll hear what we have to say."

"Right." Sam nodded again and Rachel found the moment almost comical, as they both needlessly rushed to explain themselves as if they were novelty bobble heads.

They obviously wanted to talk about Noah. Rachel imagined that after the abundance of calls she forced herself to ignore from him over the past week or so, he'd managed to do something stupid in that time. She was hoping it wasn't too bad—though she knew in all likelihood he'd probably run to Santana again—but Rachel just needed a little time to process, just until she was able to quell some of her anger enough to speak rationally.

Still, Mike and Sam were swaying anxiously across from her—probably waiting for some type of Rachel Berry sanctioned lecture—so she decided it would be fun to give them the exact opposite. Being worried about a friend was excuse enough for luring her there under false pretenses, she supposed.

"And what pray tell made you feel the need to lure me here and bribe me with a pineapple smoothie?" Rachel said instead, sipping from said smoothie with a contented smile on her face.

"Well," Mike paused, looking undoubtedly confused and briefly glancing at Sam for some type of answer, "we're worried about Puck."

Sam was nodding again and quickly took over. "Yeah, he's really messed up and we tried talking to him but… he wasn't really too into it, so..."

"So we were wondering if you could talk to him?" finished Mike and honestly Rachel found their nervous finishing of each other's sentences to be quite endearing.

She was lucky to have them as friends—and so was Noah, even if he'd never admit it.

Rachel sighed and gently slid her cup back onto the table. "Unfortunately, Noah and I aren't speaking at the moment. We had a disagreement and at this point in time I wouldn't feel comfortable conversing with him in any shape or form."

"But…" Sam stuttered, his eyes going wide and desperate, "you're the only one that can do it, Rach. He listens to you."

"Something happened at bro's night." Mike was looking equally desperate and Rachel was now wondering if there was something more to this planned ambush. "We can't tell you because you know—"

"It's against the rules," she filled in because Noah found it necessary to mash the rules of fight club and the most infamous Las Vegas catch phrase when meeting the guys for video games and beer. "Yes, I'm aware but that doesn't change the fact that I'm not in the proper frame of mind to speak to him about such things."

Sam was suddenly waving his arms fanatically, leaning in towards her and all but yelling, "But he's missing football practice and Coach is going crazy and talking about letting that Artie kid tryout for his spot. Rach, please!"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry but—"

"And he's been at Santana's again like every day this week," Mike made it sound like an afterthought—something offered to further convince her—but Rachel knew better because Mike didn't care that much about football. "She's hot and everything but you know how bad it is if he's there that much."

Rachel swallowed. Her stomach bottomed out and started to churn anxiously. She'd already known he'd run to Santana but having it confirmed was something completely different. Him being there was not a good thing, not when they both enabled the worst in each other.

"I am aware of the implication," she said softly, looking down and refusing to meet Mike's eyes, "but I don't know what I can possibly do. I'm not—"

"We'll join Glee!" Sam blurted out and Rachel glanced up, brow furrowed in complete confusion.

"What?

"We'll join Glee," Sam reassured, his tone turning loud and boisterous in his dread, "if you just talk to him. We need him back on the team! We're already going to lose against Carmel next week but we can't lose to them with a running back in a wheelchair!"

"Please, Rach." Mike looked at her pleadingly. "We'll join, we promise!"

Rachel tilted her head, contemplating her next move. She had the upper hand because both boys were desperate—Sam more than Mike—and would ultimately agree to anything she asked. With the way her life was going at the moment, it was obvious she could definitely use a couple feathers in her cap but the price was something Rachel wasn't sure she was ready for just yet. Still...

"Fine, I suppose I can think about speaking to him," she said slowly and when both guys faces brightened in excited relief, Rachel was quick to add, "but I'm making no promises."

"Think about it," Sam exclaimed, rapidly nodding his head. "That's totally good. Irayo! Irayo! Irayo!"

Mike smiled. "Nga yawne lu oer!"

Rachel sighed, relatively used to random bursts of Na'vi by now. "Also don't think I'm not already aware of your intentions to join Glee anyway to meet Tina and Mercedes. You two are extremely transparent and honestly I suggest a massive undertaking of community theatre classes to improve your acting abilities to at least a satisfactory level. Now if I do decide to converse with Noah, I'll be requiring a more extensive payment in the not so distant future. No questions asked, are we of agreement?"

"Deal!" they exclaimed quickly with cheesy grins.

Silence—Rachel took a sip of her smoothie—and then, "Artie, really?"

Both boys nodded.

"Finn offered to push him down the field like a battering ram," Sam sighed with an embarrassed shake of his head.

Rachel blinked. "That's… peculiar."

And that effectively ended their meeting.

Sam slipped into the arcade next door and she and Mike left soon after. He dropped her off in front of her daddy's car—almost exactly where he'd picked her up—with a wave and an obnoxious honk of the horn. The tan vehicle rattled out of the parking lot and Rachel's eyes flittered back to her daddy's car, briefly glancing over the roof at the football field, conspicuously placed with easy access for the jocks of McKinley high. It wasn't difficult for her to realize it was Quinn running around the track in her gym sweats, something that the blonde should know better than doing.

Sighing, Rachel's hand gripped the door handle before quickly letting go and making her way towards the jogging Cheerio. Quinn stumbled when she saw her, falling forward towards the track, her hands taking the brunt of the impact.

Rachel winced and quickly rushed over. "Quinn! Are you okay? I didn't mean to—"

"Berry," the blonde growled, ripping her headphones from her ears and pushing herself back up. "What do you want?"

She studied the tempestuous blonde for a moment before walking over. "I apologize for scaring you. Are your hands injured? They did suffer the most from your fall."

Quinn made a point to turn her palms away from her gaze and Rachel rolled her eyes at the girl's stubbornness. "They're fine."

Rachel grabbed them, holding the injured digits in between the two of them as she flipped them over. The angry red skin had just started to bleed, not much but enough to set Rachel off. "Quinn Fabray! Why must you insist on being so stubborn?"

She pulled the blonde stumbling towards the bleachers where Quinn's bag was waiting and forcefully pushed Quinn down to sit beside it.

"Berry, I said I was fine."

Quinn tried to get back up but Rachel pushed her down again, proceeding to ignore the ridiculous statement and carefully tending to the blonde's hands. Dumping some water onto a towel, Rachel slowly dabbed at Quinn's scraped up palms.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Quinn." The blonde answered by trying to pull her hands away a second time but eventually gave up when Rachel's death grip on her wrist started to hurt. "This could've been undoubtedly worse. Why were you even running in the first place?"

Quinn sighed. "I failed the Cheerio weigh-in. This was my punishment."

Rachel moved on to the blonde's other hand before looking up into dark hazel eyes. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but isn't torturing yourself like this unnecessarily pointless? Your Cheerio uniform still isn't going to fit in a few months, whether you participate in Coach Sylvester's punishments or not. Furthermore, the longer it takes for you to accept the truth of that the more dangerous it is for you and your baby."

Growling, Quinn ripped her hands away and Rachel sighed as the blonde jumped up and started to run again—Rachel imagined out of spite. Jogging after her in flats was needlessly cruel to Rachel's poor feet but she pressed on anyway.

Quinn was not amused. "Berry, just leave me alone. You're too much of a freak show to ever get it, so stop following me Manhands!"

"I understand the fear of the unknown, Quinn," Rachel called but Quinn didn't stop, so Rachel just kept talking. "It must be extremely daunting to be sixteen and in your situation, especially when you know your family will not be there to support you. The draw of ignorance and lies is always enticing, no matter what problem you're faced with but you can't do that forever Quinn. One day, the other shoe is going to drop and if you're not careful you'll be all alone when it does."

Rachel—too immersed in her impassioned speech—came down too hard on her left foot and winced briefly, coming to a dead stop. She watched Quinn keep running the track and then bent down to remove her shoe. Her heel was a little tender but it seemed fine, maybe in need of a little ice.

That was when Quinn came to a stop next to her—instead of passing right by her—panting hard. "How do you know? You just… at the doctor's you said you went through this before. What did that mean?"

Rachel quickly replaced her shoe before looking up at Quinn. "My Cousin Leon got his girlfriend pregnant in high school. They came to live with us when Uncle Wallie refused to let him live at home when he told them. His girlfriend was a freshman at the time and only a couple years older than me, so we talked a lot."

Quinn was quiet for a while but followed beside her as Rachel tried to walk off her injury around the track. She wondered what the blonde could possibly be thinking. Though the stormy look in hazel eyes foreboded something troubling, there were just too many choices to correctly identify where Quinn's mind had gone. Still, Rachel was happy just amicably spending time with the blonde, a nice change for her rapidly beating heart.

That was until Quinn came to a sudden stop, her eyes flittering around as she cursed. "Damn it."

The blonde darted off to her bag and Rachel reluctantly ran to follow, coming to a stop beside Quinn as she was frantically shoving her things into the Cheerio embroidered duffle. "Quinn, what—"

"Do you have a car?"

Rachel's brow furrowed but she ultimately nodded. "Yes, I'm using my daddy's car while he and Dad are out of town for—"

"Whatever, Berry." Hazel eyes glanced behind Rachel before Quinn started off towards the parking lot. "Let's go."

"Yes, of course."

Rachel only just managed to turn to look back at whatever had spooked the blonde to actually asking for her help—and spotted Finn across the field, waving his arms to get a rapidly retreating Quinn's attention—before the pregnant girl disappeared from sight.

Quinn was waiting beside the passenger side door, or more crouching down to hide beside it. Rachel unlocked the door with the remote and watched as Quinn all but dove into the leather interior with an unattractive belly flop.

Rachel just shook her head and slid in beside her. The lengths Quinn was going to avoid her boyfriend was actually quite humourous, though Rachel was quite curious as to why. It was obvious that Quinn didn't much like or respect Finn but usually the blonde would just emasculate the boy with cutting words—a la angry Quinn—not run and cower behind cars.

"Hurry up, Berry! Can you be any slower?"

She wanted to quip that she could and wait a little longer just to be pretentious but then Finn skidded around the corner to the parking lot. His eyes connected with Rachel's before quickly flickering over to Quinn and his black eyes were enough to get the Diva to start the car.

Quinn didn't…

"You didn't punch Finn, did you?" Hazel eyes cut over to her, glaring icily in response to the question and Rachel quickly nodded. "I see I was once again a little premature in my assumption."

Quinn's eyes glinted dangerously. "No, I just would've hit him over the head with a statue… or a candlestick holder."

Rachel quickly looked back out at the road. "Well, the creativity expended in your choice of weapon is quite admirable."

There was a pause and then, "Berry, you're so weird."

Rachel was about to agree when her phone angrily beeped, effectively ruining her chance. She was about to use the car's built in Bluetooth—as was practice for safe driving—when she spotted the caller display on the navigation screen: the Lima police station.

Damn it, Noah.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **_Works been super busy but I managed to write this. Hopefully people are still around to read it and for those who are, thank you. I really appreciate you following this no matter how sporadic the updates are these days._

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**Twenty- Three**

First, Puck just had to say that this was totally not his fault; there was a one-armed man running around scot free in Lima because he took the wrap. Sure, where he was didn't exactly do well in proving his innocence but jail was supposed to look meaner than it was.

Well, the drunk tank in Lima was sort of mean anyway.

There was lots of metal—and Patches the creepy homeless guy was rocking his usual mullet and trucker hat passed out in the corner—but that wasn't so bad. Puck could deal with that happily if his mom wasn't on her way. She was probably going to kill him, slowly like that water torture stuff that they did in Chinatown. His mom was a deadly ninja assassin that was activated to kill when the cops called her at work to come bail him out and pay his fine for 'disturbing the peace' or some dumb shit like that.

Puck could only hope that Rachel got there in time to calm his mom down—seriously he was still shocked that Berry picked up his call at all, especially when he'd used the jailhouse payphone while Patches drunkenly sang some George Thorogood song to death right next to him.

Really, Puck knew it was stupid to think he was getting out of this alive but he still hoped that maybe the ladies in his life might forgive him for another mistake. He was screwing up a lot lately—screwing, that was totally true—but honestly, he never meant to. It just happened and Puck wasn't sure why.

Well, going back to fight club hadn't been a good idea but Santana was threatening to dump him again, when she realized he still had no money to spend on her. And with Rachel not talking to him and Quinn—well he wasn't sure why he cared about things with her yet—Puck just didn't want to lose something else… even if it was a controlling, insane bitch like Santana Lopez.

So, when Puck got the text with the spot for the next fight, he went and so did the cops. And yeah, so maybe being there was his fault. Free will and all that, but he wouldn't have gone if Rachel was there to tell him not to.

Which—Puck thought—was the problem. He was supposed to do that himself, right?

The clang of the door separating the holding cells from the rest of the station opening broke his thoughts and then, "Noah, you're… that was Patches singing – and I'm using that term loosely – on the phone?"

Rachel.

Puck jumped up, his ribs—reinjured at fight club—didn't exactly like that too much and he hissed, clutching his side in pain.

"Noah," Rachel's voice sounded nervous as she got closer, her small hands wrapping around the steel bars while she leaned in to get a better look at him.

"I'm okay, Berry," he finally got out, smirking at the worry darkening her brown eyes. "Thanks for coming. I know… well I know I didn't really give you much of a reason to."

He looked down, shaking his head until Rachel laughed. "No, you really didn't… but then the fact that such an occurrence was likely to be few and far between was made quite obvious to me a long time ago."

Puck's head snapped up, his mind racing for something to say but damn Patches beat him too it. Speech gurgled, eyes glossy with his hat sideways from resting his head against the cell wall—basically the guy in all his slimy glory.

"I loved eating your gingerbread house," he exclaimed with a (literally) toothless grin and a slowly lick of his lips.

Puck felt compelled to punch his face in—since nobody (but him) talked to his fellow Jew like that—when said girl scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "You'll never touch any of my gingerbread houses. If you recall your smoke-riddled lungs gave up five minutes into the chase and you never actually got your smarmy hands anywhere near it. Saying you did is just a whisky induced fantasy."

"I loved eating your gingerbread house," he repeated and Rachel opened her mouth to retort back—why Puck would never know—when the homeless guy's head lulled back with an unattractive snore.

Puck snorted and Rachel turned her heated glare onto him. "That man chasing me for two and a half blocks in the snow and ice of last year's winter is not something to laugh about Noah Puckerman. The mere fact that you find it even remotely—"

"Woah, babe." he held up his hands as high as they would reach without hurting his ribs again, "I don't think it's funny at all. Horrible… total nightmare on the Elm Street, okay?"

Sighing, Rachel stepped back from the bars—her hands falling to her side like dead weight as she turned away from him—and for one brief second Puck thought she was about to leave until, "Officer Carlton, can I trouble you to open the cell?"

The cop stepped forward out of literally no-where. Puck wondered if he was there the whole time until he realized he recognized him. One of the truancy cops Rachel made friends with. The one that loved Rachel's cookies… that really sounded creepy now that he thought about it.

"Sure, Miss Berry. You should be all right. Patches is probably out for the night now." The guy unclipped the keys from his hip and soon the cage creaked open. Rachel slipped in and the cop added. "I'll be right down the hall. Holler if you need me."

Rachel nodded, smiling brightly. "Thank you, Officer. Your helpfulness is most appreciated and I'll be sure to have extra cookies prepared for you and your partner come Monday."

"No problem. Always happy to help." He winked and then disappeared again just like that.

Spooky, Puck thought.

Rachel busied herself with spreading out a white handkerchief along the bench beside him. She had whipped it out from her skirt pocket and Puck took a moment to ogle the legs he usually only got to see at school.

God, they were so perfect… if only they were on somebody else's body. He tilted his head to think about it but quickly shook his head. Way too weird.

"Babe, lookin' good." He added a smirk for kicks and Berry scoffed, now settled beside him on her handkerchief barrier.

"Can we be serious for a moment, Noah? I believe my sweater has farm animals on it today… lambs if I'm not mistaken, so please can we get on with this conversation that your stupidity has forced us to have in the most unsavory, unhygienic conditions imaginable."

Puck scanned the sweater, he really hadn't noticed—thanks to the sinfully (and most definitely heavenly) short skirt—and laughed. "Berry, explain to me again why you wear that shit again? I mean, I know you still dress weird but even you know animals shouldn't be on a shirt without a funny phrase."

Rachel sighed. "I've already explained my reasoning extensively in the past and again the answer is still the same, my dads like them. Now can we please stop avoiding the inevitable, as you know it is one of my utmost hated pet peeves. Also your mother will be here soon and you haven't convinced me to help you yet."

Puck's eyes widened and he swallowed nervously. He thought he was home free because she showed but Puck knew he should've known better. Berry always wanted to talk… some type of feelings thing always had to happen after a fight for 'closure' or something girly like that.

Sometimes having a chick for a best friend really sucked.

You can quote him on that.

Puck ran a hand along his mohawk nervously, he really just felt seconds away from puking. "You already know what happened and… well I can't take it back, you know? So what do you want me to do?"

Rachel crossed her legs, Puck swallowed down his need to hit on her. He reasoned he'd make up for it later—if she was talking to him again that is.

She sighed, her eyes staring at her hands as they fiddled with the ends of her skirt. "I know and I'm sorry if I acted like I expected you to. I just… sometimes I find myself struggling with differentiating the person that you are with the person you pretend to be."

Puck frowned because he just didn't understand. He'd always been himself around Rachel; he never wanted her to think less of him... just like everybody else did. He'd made sure… so sure that she knew him. And now...

"I don't get what you're saying, Rach. I don't get how you get confused about knowing me… I don't…"

He trailed off because the news hurt. All this time he thought that Rachel got him and she was the reason that Puck believed he was more than he knew he was. But if she thought he was pretending then… her telling him he wasn't a Lima Loser: it was just a lie.

"Noah," she said quickly, grabbing his arm to keep him on the bench beside her. "I do know you. I'm quite positive that you're more than this town, that you're more than your father's legacy that this town insists on unfairly labeling you with. Please believe that. You're just misinterpreting my words."

Puck looked away, outside the cell, but didn't try breaking her grip. "Then what did you mean, 'cause it sounds like you meant that to me."

"I just… when you told me of that night, I didn't know how to process it, so my brain went straight to my own culpability. That I had a hand in forcing Quinn into this deal you two have after everything that happened between you." Rachel slowly let go of his arm because somehow she knew he finally believed her. "Of course, as time went on I gradually found myself trying to find answers to your culpability as well and I told myself I wasn't going to approach you until I had something definitive figured out."

Puck shifted nervously on the bench; he finally realized where Rachel was going with this. "And you do now?"

Rachel nodded, a small smile finding its way to her face. "Yes, actually I have. As you know, I'm not well versed in social complexities and when faced with one, I tend to put myself in said situations – metaphorically of course – and make my assumptions based on my feelings as a result. So when I put myself in Quinn's position that night, I found myself struggling to believe you could… well I just know that night would've never happened if it were me. Which is where the disconnect laid for me and it wasn't until you called me today that I realized that my best course of action was to just ask you. I need to know why."

There was such a serious look in her eye that Puck knew this was his last chance. He knew what happened with Quinn—at least what he could remember—bordered on pretty horrible, so it was obvious what Rachel was asking.

His throat was really dry all of the sudden. He tried swallowing but it didn't help. Still, he wanted to answer the best he could, for Rachel at least. "Quinn's always been on the top in Lima, people always wanted her and for once I thought… she came to me, with the wine coolers and was touching me, giving me signals I know I wasn't making up in my head. Sure I hit on her all the time but Finn was always the guy she paid attention to, so when she showed up at my door…"

Rachel nodded and Puck sighed, thankful she understood. Voicing his insecurities anymore than that would've hurt a whole lot. He already felt bad enough having to call her from jail.

"I can understand how intoxicating being that choice was but—"

"Rach," he looked over at her and her face was annoyed—because he'd interrupted her—until she spotted the pleading he was sure was pouring out all over him. "You got to believe me when I say, I can't explain it because I know what I do remember doesn't sound good but I know I didn't force her. She wanted me to…"

Rachel faced looked pained, there could've been a lot of reasons why, so Puck backed off on finishing his thought. She just stared down at her once again fiddling fingers—the time seemed to stand still, he didn't know how long they sat there with dumb Patches' snores filling the room—until Rachel looked up with a small smile.

"I suppose we can work towards a reconciliation of our friendship but I'll be needing an expression of musical apology at your earliest convenience to proceed any further."

Puck groaned, again like he'd been shot but he thought it was perfectly understandable. "No way… the last time was already bad enough."

Rachel shrugged and nodded—accepting his denial way too easily—Puck was suspicious until she said, "Well if you want to suffer a horrible death at the hands of your mother when she undoubtedly arrives…"

The slamming of a door surprised them both and with (horrible) perfect timing his mother stomped in looking pretty deadly.

"Fine," he whispered, eyes cutting to a smirking Rachel. "I'll sing anything, just do something!"

Berry nodded and his mother reached the open cell with a whoosh of fury. "Noah Puckerman, you're lucky Rachel convinced me to bail you out of jail or I would've let your ass rot in here! But so help me God, you're paying all the money I just spent and all the money I'm losing standing here instead of working."

Puck looked to Rachel, who was now standing and folding her handkerchief back into a perfect square. "She called me right after you. I managed to make her see the damage jail could do to a teenaged psyche."

She'd hustled him… stupid Rachel. Stupid Berry and her ugly lamb sweater and legs that should be on another body for him to enjoy. His mother clearing her throat had his attention back on her instantly, especially when he remembered he'd yet to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'll pay it all back. I promise," he pleaded, struggling to stand to say sorry once more.

"Sit down, you can hardly stand," the woman commanded, something that Puck quickly complied with more out of necessity than fear at this point. "My God, what possesses you to do this to yourself? You're just like your father. I swear Noah Puckerman, just like him."

Puck looked down and Rachel squeezed his hand briefly before stepping over to speak to his mother. He wasn't really listening—he didn't really care. Not after she… he wasn't his father.

He wasn't.

"Noah," Rachel sighed, her small hand now gripping his shoulder gently. "I'm sure she didn't—"

Puck waved his hand, stopping her ramble. "Don't okay. Just… go get my fight club winnings from Gavin. It will be enough to pay my mother off and…"

Puck wasn't interested in saying anything else, something Rachel seemed to figure out pretty quickly. The silence between then was definitely more seconds than minutes.

"Okay." She nodded and Puck was just thankful she was going to drop it. "Just… why did you go back? You hadn't for a while and—"

"I needed money to buy some shit for, Santana," he sighed because it really did seem stupid now, especially when Santana was part of one of the richest families in Lima.

"Oh," Rachel's voice didn't sound thrilled, he knew she hated him and Santana. She told him it was because Santana was a bad influence but he always thought there was more to it that Rachel just didn't want to tell him about. "Well your mother is signing paperwork to facilitate your release. She informed me it might be a while, so I'll contact you later once I've collected your winnings."

Puck looked up to thank her maybe… he wasn't too sure—he never was with words, they just came usually—but she was already gone.

Instead, Officer Cookies had once again re-appeared out of nowhere to slam the cell door shut.

Great. Just great.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **_Though I feel like nobody is reading this - except for the usual few that I love forever for reviewing almost every chapter - I can't seem to write anything else. Sometimes I wish that people could just enjoy the journey instead of the destination, but that's not exactly how things work, which is fine. It's always the thought that counts, right?_

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**Twenty-Four**

Berry turned the street corner at speeds that Quinn was sure were way over the speed limit; she had been keeping a close eye on the speedometer while clutching the armrest fearfully. The tiny psycho's slight glance in her direction was almost enough for Quinn to scream at her to slow down because honestly, Berry should've been one of those drivers that drove like an eighty-six year old grandmother with an out of date eye prescription, breaking every couple meters in a beat-up _Oldsmobile_.

Not this… this… fast.

But, as if Berry was reading her mind, the buildings seemed to become single structures—not just dark blurs—and brown eyes were back to concentrating on the road. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief, hesitantly unclenching her hand from the armrest and resting it comfortably with the other one on her stomach.

Except when they pulled into a deserted parking lot and Berry turned off the car, Quinn realized they'd only slowed down enough to turn: Berry hadn't done it for her. It made her feel funny, her chest started to ache the same way it did before in the auditorium—before she'd run off to the bathroom because she felt sick—and Quinn really didn't want that to happen again.

Not now, not when she was actually able to take a look at her surroundings and realized the buildings seemed a lot more unsavory than she remembered. Sirens blazed in the distance, a broken shutter on the house across the street slammed against the dirty white siding every time the wind blew a little too hard. Music was playing somewhere down the street but Quinn couldn't see from where because all she could hear were the deafening sound of the bass and static coming through broken speakers.

And it was dark, darker than it should've been: the broken streetlights were probably to thank for that. It wasn't lost on her that the cars that did pass through were barely recognizable blurs. She was obviously right to be more than nervous about getting out of the car to puke on the curb.

She was in Lima Heights Adjacent: the part of town Santana only wished she was from.

Quinn turned to glare icily in Berry's direction. "Why the hell are we here, Berry?"

Said girl shrugged, already stepping out of the car. Quinn decided she was staying in it, since the thing had locks and out there the only thing Berry could do was sing them out of danger…or give their attackers a stern talking to.

But then, Berry leaned down so she could look into the car with that annoying smile on her face. "This car is admittedly an over-priced _Toyota _but I'd imagine its parts are worth a hefty sum to the chop shop down the street, so I'd advise against staying in it. But alas, it's up to you."

Quinn rolled her eyes as Berry slammed the door and started walking away. Like hell she was going to listen to stupid Manha… Berry. She was Quinn Fabray, she… just noticed the creepy looking guys walking towards the car from down the street. Big, burley, dressed in black, travelling in packs and lurking in shadows creepy looking guys.

Stupid, Berry.

The fact that Quinn was now out of the car didn't damn well make Berry right—not at all. In fact, it was Quinn's idea to come with her to get Puck's money, after the gremlin had marched into the waiting room mumbling something about ignorant idiots. She'd refused to be dropped off at home—mostly because Finn was probably still camping out on her front porch, now that he knew her line about all weekend Cheerio practice was a lie—so Quinn had to go after Berry to make a point at the very least.

Still, it was dark and she really had nothing to go on but the direction Berry walked in. Wandering around in an abandoned parking lot didn't exactly scream 'safe' but Quinn told herself she had no choice, not when Berry—

"I see you decided to take my advice. It was obvious you would, since—"

"Holy fuck!" Quinn screamed, jumping with her hand clutched over her heart as Berry appeared from the shadows like a tiny serial killer ready to saran wrap her to a table.

Berry rolled her eyes and spun to walk to the back half of the parking lot. Quinn followed after her, since Berry seemed to know exactly where she was going and keeping her eyes on the girl left no chance of another surprise ambush.

The parking lot was actually an entrance to a strip of asphalt that stretched what looked like miles behind the other should-be condemned houses. Peeling white paint and colourful gang tags covered their outside. The owners must have given up on maintenance a long time ago.

Berry looked over her shoulder, coming to a stop up ahead before pivoting and stomping back. The psycho stopped in front of her and took her hand—something that Quinn gritted her teeth at but didn't pull away from—and then she allowed Berry to yank her into the alleyway to their left.

Garbage cans rolled around, those old metal ones that she was sure were only in the movies. The smell of rotting food and filth hit her nose and she couldn't decide whether to gag or cry. Apparently, this baby didn't feel comfortable in its… sperm donor's natural habitat, so at least it had that going for it.

Rusted chain linked fences stood around them to block off the backyards of the residential houses that backed onto the alley on the street before the parking lot. The wind made the chain shiver, moving back and forth like it had come alive into a sinister monster. The crackled and tattered blacktop below their feet looked like a 'hodge podge' of many different attempts to fix what was broken. Someone must have given up on this too because big pieces of asphalt lay scattered ahead of them like obstacles to their destination.

They finally came to a stop at the back of a house and Berry let go of her hand to step through a hole in the metal fence with relative ease. When Quinn didn't immediately follow—because honestly, a crazy person was leading her into a condemned building, probably to die—Berry let out a frustrated huff of air.

"Can we hurry this along, Quinn? I know you and your followers believe I'm without a social life, but I do actually have social obligations to meet tonight."

Berry was actually on the other side of the fence, arms crossed and tapping her foot. If she weren't the only way Quinn could make it back to the car, the psycho would be out cold at Quinn's feet from a punch directly to the nose.

Sighing, Quinn reluctantly complied grumbling a quick—_I want to punch you in the face_—as she ducked down through the fence.

Every step after that—the deafening crunch of gravel under her feet—echoed loudly through the neighbourhood. The sound of passing cars on the street had disappeared leaving only the howling wind to chill their bodies and fill the silence between their footsteps. The walk seemed to go on forever and Quinn wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not.

And then she heard music, the same beat as before only the static was replaced with the frantic words and loud strings of punk rock. Berry seemed to light up when she heard it—music notes bleeding from her eyes, remember?—and when they turned the corner of the house there was a group of people at the seediest party Quinn had ever seen.

Beer cans were everywhere, bodies were scattered around the backyard at various stages of sex while skateboarders were zooming around in an empty pool. And the weirdest thing was that people seemed to know Berry as they walked towards the back door of the house. Some girl actually stopped sucking some guys face off to wave and scream her name.

Berry came to a stop, turning to face the girl as a cocky grin slowly made its way on to her face. Quinn swallowed, having seen that look every single time Berry stepped onto a stage. She just seemed so sure—confident—and at that moment Quinn really hated the strawberry blonde bouncing towards them because that look on Berry was dangerous.

Quinn would know and her hands absently found themselves resting on her stomach once again, as Berry greeted their new arrival.

"Fiona, how wonderful to see you here! I thought you were still in Chicago."

The girl—Fiona apparently—shrugged and quickly pulled Berry into a hug, waiting to answer when it (finally) came to an end. "Oh I am. Just came back for my birthday bash."

She gestured around and Quinn held in her disbelieving laughter—since she didn't want to risk getting shot—because really, this wasn't at all worth coming back to Lima for, especially on your birthday. Nothing was worth coming back to this town, nothing.

But, obviously this girl didn't think so and Berry was annoyingly squealing birthday greetings and hugging her again. "I apologize, I suppose such a thing never came up in conversation."

Quinn rolled her eyes. How long was she expected to stay there and listen to this completely titillating conversation? Didn't Berry have some other 'social obligations' to get to? Apparently, that was only when Quinn was slowing them down… not Fiona.

"No need, Rachel. We were definitely too distracted by other things to put the blame—" The guy that Fiona was previously on top of called her name, getting all three of their attention—Quinn's only belatedly. "Sorry, I need to go but we need to catch up. Coffee?"

Berry nodded. "Sure. Contact me with the details."

The girl nodded and quickly jogged back to her 'date.' Berry then turned back to Quinn—surprise, surprise, she actually remembered she was there. Quinn was still thinking of something snarky to say as much when Berry re-clasped their hands, pulling her quickly towards the back of the house.

Quinn gritted her teeth again but the urge to lash out faded away, much to Quinn's displeasure.

Damn it.

When they walked through the back door the inside of the house was almost as bad as the outside—spray painted walls, crushed beer cans and a weird musty smell—but the plasma screen and _Xbox_ a bunch of guys were gathered around in the living room was definitely out of place.

Berry cleared her throat and all eyes were suddenly on them, but only one guy stood up. Tall, lots of piercings and tattoos, backwards hat and low—low—rise jeans. The fact that he had to be at least forty—while everybody else in the room seemed as old as half of that—was pretty sad.

"Berry," she exclaimed lowly, when the guy started walking towards them. "He's a forty year old skateboarder living in a condemned house."

She giggled. Berry actually giggled. "Well, as you said he's a forty year old skateboarder. That's about as ominous as it gets Quinn. Wouldn't you agree?"

No, she wouldn't agree. She was in Lima Heights Adjacent at a freakin' skateboarder orgy and forty year old man with his hat actually on backwards just winked at her. And Berry thought this was funny?

Her life was in the hands of a fuckin' lunatic.

Splendid.

"Are you kidding me right now, Manhands? How the hell do you even think—"

"He lives in his parents garage, Quinn. Right down the street from you actually, so really I think you might be overreacting just a smidge, yes?"

Quinn gapped at her because she was honestly at a loss for words. But it wouldn't have mattered anyway because the guy had already arrived.

"Rachel Berry," he said with a dreamy tinge to his voice that had Quinn fighting off a cringe. "My sister still talks about you all the time, you know?"

Quinn's eyebrow raised when Rachel actually did cringe before she said, "Yes, that's lovely to know, now can I get Noah's winnings from last night please? I'd love to stay and converse further but my schedule is relatively busy this evening."

The guy actually looked disappointed and honestly how could these people all seem to actually like Rachel Berry? Quinn ignored the snide voice inside of her head that told her she did too because she didn't, not at all.

"Fine, fine," he sighed, waving his hands in an attempt to placate Berry. "Chillax a bit while I go get it."

He walked passed them and up a rickety set of stairs, disappearing into darkness three quarters the way to the top, since only the bottom floor seemed to be lit.

Quinn then turned to look at Berry, who quite honestly didn't seem like Berry anymore. Maybe Quinn hardly knew the girl at all. The thought had her stomach churning again because it might be sad but Berry was probably the one constant thing she had in her life now, except that was changing too, wasn't it?

"So are these people your friends or something?"

Berry glanced up at her with a small shake of her head. "Absolutely not. Mere acquaintances through Noah's involvement in that atrocious fight club Gavin runs."

So Berry didn't spend her time drinking with Gavin the forty-year-old skateboarder. That was actually a relief, since such a scenario was even too depressing for a Rachel Berry quest for friendship. Though with the way they acted, Puck seemed like the only friend Berry would ever need—something Quinn didn't really understand at all.

"Well, you and that girl seemed pretty chummy." Quinn tilted her head, looking away and then back with a new dismissive air. "Fiona, right?"

Rachel looked at her, lips quirked into a half smile as she looked into Quinn's eyes. "Fiona and I attended the same dance class, so I don't consider her an individual that I became acquainted with through here. She recently relocated for schooling at Northwestern and understandably we haven't seem much of each other since."

Quinn rolled her eyes, even if the explanation explained away the explosion of hugs and the offer for coffee. Honestly, she was just overly irritable today—not that Berry wasn't annoying because she so was—and this morning's nightmare hadn't helped while Finn only made everything worse.

She wasn't about to apologize though.

Gavin appeared from the stairs and it seemed the guy was taking his sweet time to get to them. Berry sighed next to her and walked over to meet him, plucking the envelop out of his hand in one fell swoop.

For a forty-year-old skateboarder, he could sure frown. "Jeez, sorry, chica. My sister just told me to stall until she got here. She's running a little late but when I called her to tell her you and a divine blonde angel had landed in my backyard—"

"We're going," Berry interrupted, while Quinn glared at the pickup line from behind her. "I'll inform Noah that you're even and you'll helpfully loose his number, got it?"

Gavin eyes narrowed in response. Apparently, a forty-year-old guy still mooching off his mom did like to be told what to do… imagine that. "Hey, he doesn't have to come. I just send the texts. Don't put it on me, all right?"

Rachel straightened up at the backtalk, her eyes getting that crazy look Quinn had seen numerous times over the course of their almost daily altercations at school. "And now you'll cease the sending of said texts. I won't ask again, especially when my father engages in a daily golf game every Sunday with yours."

The guy's eyes widened, his face going completely white and Quinn once again had to stifle laughter as he was quickly nodding his head while hastily pulling out his phone to delete Puck's number in front of Berry's watchful eyes.

Quinn heart beat a little faster and honestly this Berry wasn't half bad, even if the familiar presence of barnyard animals on her sweater did undermine her intimidation factor—at least for Quinn.

Berry was then walking back towards her, once again taking her hand—something that Quinn found herself not caring too much about this time—and dragging her out the door.

Fiona waved from her place on top of the same guy and Berry enthusiastically returned the favour. Quinn settled for rolling her eyes and blaming her irritation on the baby once again.

And when they got back to Berry's dad's shiny new_ Lexus_—coincidentally still intact—Quinn realized that she could begrudgingly admit—at least to herself—that Berry was right.

Staying in the car would've been a bad idea.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **_First, I just wanted to apologize for the wait. I'm in the process of trying to finish one of my other fics and I kind of let this one fall to the wayside. Hopefully this chapter will be worth it._

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**Twenty-Five**

Yawning, Rachel took a sip from her extra large travel mug. Embroidered with stick on gold stars, it was quite possibly her most priced possession at the moment, as it was the only thing keeping her up right. She supposed after she'd dropped Quinn off at home that staying up well passed a reasonable hour—a dead time where only paranormal 'experts' and Rachel Berry alike would not be snoring unconscious—to complete a perfectly coded spreadsheet using her beloved Powerpoint's not so distant cousin, Excel was pretty ridiculous.

Of course, it was quite possible to worry about such things later. The fact that she and Noah were behind schedule in compiling enough money for Quinn's next doctors visit took presentence in this case. She'd selfishly let personal afflictions undermine her overall objective and as a result her spreadsheet was looking a little lopsided.

Lopsided to a point that Rachel was unsure if her budget could ever possibly recover with time constraints as they were. Still, she had a couple weeks and Rachel Berry never gave—

"Hey, Berry. Open wide!"

Her sleep-addled brain processed the request a beat later than usual and when she turned around, Mike had Karofsky pinned against a locker across the hall while a Big Gulp slushie cup rolled around at their feet.

Mike obviously looked angry and Rachel couldn't help but feel warm at the prospect of being defended. Karofsky was struggling to get free of his position, once he realized people had stopped to watch him get manhandled like a rag-doll. Of course, the current circumstance was quite possibly somewhat deceiving, as Rachel was probably the only one keen enough to spot that the slushie splattered under his feet was prohibiting Karofsky from getting enough leverage to push into Mike to break free.

"Dude! Let go!" Karofsky was quick to yell.

Mike said something in return but Rachel could only make out murmurs from her current vantage point, so she started closing the gap.

She'd reached both their sides in a few quick steps, just as Mike said, "We told you to leave Rachel alone."

Karofsky tried to look intimidating but Rachel deemed his attempt a failure, especially in his current position. He seemed to realize it as well because he gritted his teeth and stopped struggling, his eyes cutting over to hers.

"Berry, why don't you try banging me instead of Puckerman? I'll be sure to protect you too after you get your knees a little dirty."

Rachel's eyes narrowed and her mouth naturally fell open to defend herself but Mike raised his knee up into Karofsky's groin, moving back just in time to let the boy crumple down into the puddle of slushie that was meant for her.

"Try learning some respect, man," he ordered and his brown eyes quickly darted over to hers.

Rachel smiled. "I appreciate the sentiment, Mike but you know my stance on solving conflict through violence."

Mike shrugged and looked back at Karofsky, who was now struggling to get up. "Well, he deserved it."

"Yeah," Sam offered, as he pushed his way through the crowd, "you're the only reason why Artie is our water boy and not a wide receiver. He owes you just as much as we do."

Mike and Sam did this weird handshake—that made them look exceedingly ridiculous with all the fist bumping and hand slapping—but Sam did offer her a smile so Rachel reasoned it was enough of an acknowledgement for her to let the moment go.

"Berry did that?" wheezed Karofsky, as he wobbled up to one knee.

Mike must've hit him really hard. Rachel felt the tiniest bit of sympathy for him because she really did hate to see anybody hurt, even a relentless bully like Karofsky. Still, she didn't dare move to help him stand up, something he finally did seconds later with an assist from a locker.

Sam and Mike both nodded in sync, once again. Rachel couldn't figure out why she and Noah's friendship was labeled as inhumane but these two didn't get any flack at all for their odd analogous friendship.

Rachel was distracted from deliberation when Karofsky's dark eyes found their way to her own. "Lopez wanted me to do it so whatever. Just tell her I did and I'll go toss gay boy into the dumpster instead."

Santana.

She… of course she would.

Rachel absently turned towards her two friends. "Thanks guys but Kurt could probably use your assistance more than I do at this present moment in time. Though I again appreciate the sentiment all the same, I have somewhere I need to be."

Gritting her teeth, Rachel stomped off and through the crowd. She imagined Sam and Mike had an identical look of confusion plastered on their dissimilar features and was unfortunately too angry to look back to get confirmation of the humourous sight.

Stupid Santana.

Not surprisingly, she arrived at the Cheerio locker room minutes later. Not surprising because this had been building for a while now and Rachel had let it fester even though she knew it would only make matters worse.

Still, stepping into the Cheerio locker room, Rachel was too angry to give any thought to her kamikaze search for Santana Lopez. A few girls glared at her, Rachel freely ignored them, as her tunnel vision only got worse. Santana was laughing with Brittany when Rachel spotted her and she briefly thought about walking up to the Latina and slapping the look off her face, but unfortunately it was not meant to be.

"Hey, Manhands, you're in the wrong locker room," a Cherrio screamed out, effectively ruining her chance at a surprise attack because Santana was looking right at her until the girl's attention was drawn off to the side.

"Hey Christie, you might want to stop eating Daddy's cookies. Your jiggly thighs just made me throw up in my mouth a bit."

Rachel found herself smiling until she remembered why she was there. But, by the look in Santana's eyes, the girl had been expecting her. Still, Rachel wasn't about to let that stop her.

"Santana, we need to talk, now."

Santana cocked her head to the side at the order but didn't say a word about it, instead gesturing behind her head towards the showers. "Lead the way, Smurfling."

Rachel rolled her eyes at Santana's choice of words and ignored all the gazes tracking her every move as they both disappeared through the shower doors. The minute they slammed shut, Rachel whirled around.

"This has to stop, Santana! I already expressed to you numerous times that I wouldn't tell anyone. You can't keep—"

"I can do whatever I want, Berry and that includes Puck." The Latina's smirk was infuriating and so was her need to constantly flaunt her use of Noah in Rachel's face. It was also just the right bait to distract Rachel from her previous goal. "You think one slushie is going to make up for how many times you've cockblocked me? Not everybody goes into a conniption at the feel of a little side boob. I gots needs!"

Santana stood, staring at her, eyes dark with a blatant challenge. They used to be friends—well acquaintances through Noah—and then Santana had slept with him. Things changed after that and Rachel suspected there were a multitude of reasons why, not limited to their shared coming of age.

"That's not what this is about and you know it." Santana seemed to get it because her infuriating smirk diminished a fraction of an inch and Rachel felt a sweeping thrill surge through her at the prospect. "If you actually cared about him as a lover I wouldn't have a problem with it but you and I are both aware how little truth there is in your so-called relationship. You're incapable of being what he needs, Santana!"

And then Santana was back, rolling her eyes and posed with her hands on her hips. Rachel visibly swallowed down her disappointment when the Latina scoffed, "Oh I'm more than sure I'm capable of fulfilling his needs. You're not the only one without a gag reflex—"

"Eww, that is exceedingly revolting, Santana," and the scenario heinously started to flash through her mind, as she shuddered helplessly, "especially when I've still been unable to forget seeing such a thing by mistake!"

"Well then you know how much he was enjoying it, Berry. Isn't that like your whole argument gone… down my throat?"

Santana knew she had the upper hand and Rachel desperately sought after something to tug the control back. Avoiding Santana had left her dreadfully out of practice because it took a certain finesse to send the Latina reeling. She was crude and so angry, to the point that Rachel questioned if she'd actually strike her in retaliation to the wrong set of words. At least with Quinn, Rachel didn't have to fend off sexually suggestive barbs and a psychotic mind. Sure, Quinn tended to look psychotic at the best of times but Rachel had no doubt that the blonde would never go that far.

Santana Lopez, not so much.

Nowadays anyway.

And just like that the perfect set of words came to her along with a startling sense of clarity. Santana had successfully distracted her from why she was there. She hadn't come to argue about Noah specifically. He was involved in a roundabout way and Rachel supposed she'd have to get there eventually because Noah needed this and at the very least—since Santana would never admit it—the Latina needed it too.

"I just threw up in my mouth more than a little bit," Santana smirked but didn't say anything, which was a rather new and unnerving habit but still Rachel tried not to let it phase her because she'd effectively impressed Santana enough for her to listen, "and you know that isn't what I'm talking about. He needs the stability of a relationship, Santana. Somebody that doesn't encourage him to engage in life threatening activities for their personal amusement, somebody that actually cares to bring out the best in him, not cultivating the worst! And while you might be able to engage in sexual intercourse with him, you can't offer him that emotional stability. You're incapable of giving that too him, you know this!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Berry. We're in high school. I don't need to pluck the person I'm going to marry from Bumfuck, Ohio. Chill the fuck out!"

"You might be able to distinguish it but he can't." He really couldn't. Quinn was proof of that and no amount of Rachel begging him to see that girls weren't just notches on his bedpost would help that. Not with Santana freely encouraging it to protect herself from her own self-hatred. "He's already… just he's already shown a disregard for women that he wouldn't have before. You know what I'm talking about, this relationship is damaging for both of you, especially when you don't even want it!"

Something shifted in Santana's eyes and while Rachel hadn't exactly been sure the Latina had seen the change in their shared friend, she was now. They both cared for him—another thing Santana would never admit—but Rachel needed her to acknowledge it now. Noah was going to be a father and whatever happened, it was time to deal with this self-destructing habit of his, or at the very least escape Santana, somebody that was self-destructing too.

Still, Santana gritted her teeth and Rachel knew she was going to be difficult. "You can't tell me what—"

"Please excuse my crassness but I feel such a situation requires a harder edge," because honestly, they were talking in circles and Rachel was starting to feel a little dizzy, "and cut the bullshit. You kissed me, Santana. More than—"

"Shut up, Berry!" Santana was frantically waving her hands, one tried to swipe towards her mouth but Rachel stepped away, the back of her knees hitting the bench behind her. "You don't know what you're talking about. I don't even remember these so called kisses, so I knows your ass is lying."

"Really, Santana?" Rachel paused, the spinning room started to get worse but she stubbornly shook it off. "Really? You've decided to employ that tactic? You're gay, I can't even… I think… I…"

Rachel found her self sitting on the bench with Santana hovering over her. For a moment she reached up towards her nose because she thought Santana had hit her but when everything was still in tact she found her brain reeling for an answer.

"Berry, what the hell?" Santana yelled and Rachel felt soft hands yanking her chin up until she could see Santana's eyes through the haze of her own. "You're not going to keel over and die are you?"

"No…" Trying to shake her head was undoubtedly stupid at this point in time, Rachel was realizing but it did get Santana's hands away from striking distance of her nose, "don't be ridiculous. I'm just feeling a bit lightheaded. I'm sure it will pass in a moments time."

Rachel's eyes drifted shut and the spinning seemed to stop for a moment. The nauseous feeling in her stomach settled and she thought she was fine until she opened them again.

Maybe she was going to die.

Santana was back to grabbing her chin. "Have you eaten anything today?"

The Latina was moving her head back and forth and seemingly checking for a fever with her other hand. Rachel tried to smile because Santana almost looked concerned.

"No, I slept through my alarm and just had time to procure a travel mug of coffee this morning. I was planning on waiting until lunch but I suppose such a tactic wasn't a good idea."

Santana rolled her eyes. "No shit, Berry. Not when you look like you haven't slept in weeks. I know you can't be staying awake for sex because, well, you're you, so…whatever, I'm calling Puckerman to come take you home. I don't need to be blamed for your murder in spite of the bump it would give my reputation."

Santana whipped out her phone and Rachel shifted until she was lying along the bench, her head lulled back in an attempt at resting her eyes. As it so happened, it wasn't possible to worry about this later because this was an ample warning that she needed some time to herself, or at the very least a good night of sleep without Excel spreadsheets.

"I knew you liked me," she mumbled and shifted so her head rested on her pillowed arms. "If you weren't only interested in me when you were drunk, we could totally date."

"In your Streisand infested dreams, Smurfling." Rachel smiled at that but was too groggy to do much else. "Besides, I've broken too many commandments to fit the bill for a stand in."

Rachel couldn't help nodding and then she realized what Santana had said. She opened her eyes and Santana was sitting down by her feet, watching her. "When did you figure it out?"

Santana shrugged. "About the time you said I should dye my hair blonde."

Rachel closed her eyes again and drudged through her mind's eye to that night. It happened like all the times before: Santana drank too much, starting bawling hysterically and Rachel felt obligated to comfort her after the Latina confessed to her ambiguous sexuality the first night they found themselves at a party making out. The first night, Rachel had been minding her own business and Santana had stumbled up to her for reasons Rachel to this day didn't know. But that night, Rachel had been drunk too and her lips tended to loosen even more with alcohol. It was recipe for disaster, hence her suggestion for Santana to go blonde while the Latina was straddling her.

"I resend my initial advice to maybe suggest something edgier. Red, yes. I see definite crimson streaks."

Santana rolled her eyes. "I'll stop seeing, Puck. I know there is more going on here because you never got so bat-shit crazy about it before. I'll find out you know, Berry."

"Thank you," Rachel sighed and quite honestly, she was too tired to contemplate the cheerleader's threat.

"Whatever, I'm not doing it for you."

It was the last thing Rachel heard before she finally succumbed to a deep sleep.


	26. Chapter 26

**Twenty-six**

Puck liked driving Rachel to school. She brought him breakfast—which was good because her smelling like birthday cake always made him hungry—didn't bitch about his music (unless he didn't have any on) and she wasn't one of those bossy backseat drivers, as long as he got her to first period on time without running red lights and stop signs.

Except today, Rachel forgot his breakfast.

She still smelled really good but Puck could see she was tried. And it wasn't just that giant ass star mug—making her smell more like the dry coffee cake his Nana always served when they came to visit—that gave her away.

No, Rachel just wasn't sparkling like she used to.

Not like those stupid vampires his sister dreamed about and stuck all over her wall—'cause that shit was just dumb—it was more like one of those hippy aura things the stoners behind the school talked about when they were high enough to share their stash for free.

Rachel was just always really bright—in a shiny sort of way—but today there was none of that. Something was definitely wrong with his fellow Jew, Puck just didn't know what.

He had asked this morning but she wasn't telling. Rachel walked into the school and he went to football practice because there was nothing he could do, not when Rachel didn't feel like talking.

She was weird like that. It was like talking was her thing and she was really controlling about it. Almost like singing, though if she had her way the world would be a musical… so maybe not.

But whatever, it just meant Rachel wasn't going to talk unless she wanted to. Puck didn't have those evil girl powers that tricked guys into doing stuff because… well he was a dude… and didn't have boobs. Only his guns but they really didn't work on Rachel.

Puck just hoped singing that song for her in Glee after school got them even again because he kind of missed bro's nights. He knew it was his fault they stopped. Having sex with Quinn was great and all, well maybe not, since he could only remember her…

Sighing, he looked up at the bleachers where the girl sat. Puck saw her go up there after cheer practice while the football team was running extra laps because Finn failed Coach Bieste's pre-game fitness test.

He'd been standing there for a long time just watching her, well more like trying to figure out what he was going to say to her. Puck knew he owed Quinn an apology—Rachel had told him so but he kind of knew already without her help—he probably owed Quinn more than that but he didn't really know what he could give that she would want.

He imagined it would be pretty painful… Quinn was crazy like that.

Swallowing, Puck slowly made his way up the bleachers; he was three levels away from her when he stopped. The sun was in his eyes—and the glare off the bleachers didn't help with seeing her very well—but Puck wasn't stupid. Quinn damn well knew he was there but she was probably pretending he didn't exist like always.

Puck shook off that sick feeling (again) and ran a hand over his Mohawk instead.

"Can we talk?" he said, not bothering to wait for her non-answer and just going ahead and taking the last three steps to sit down beside her.

He made sure to keep a fair distance between them just incase she decided to hit him or some crazy shit like that.

Quinn rolled her eyes, before answering in that 'better than him' tone she always did. "No, thanks."

Her hands were fists in her lap and she was really angry. Puck kind of felt stupid for stating the obvious because Quinn Fabray always was. He thought it probably had to do with family stuff or too much time with psycho Sylvester—since him sexing her up didn't help… well maybe that didn't count—but anyway he could relate.

She didn't have a Rachel though—not totally anyway—because Quinn really hated Rachel—like really hated her—almost too much. Sure his Jew bro was a little annoying at first but she was awesome after all that.

Whatever though, he stopped trying to figure Quinn out a long time ago. Her man-eating ways were really bad for the Puckster's plans for his next birthday.

Puck quickly shook away his thoughts. He knew they weren't fair because he deserved anything she wanted to throw at him. Rachel told him he needed be accountable for his actions and he wasn't sure exactly how to do that, since owning up to mistakes wasn't exactly in the badass code.

Like was he supposed to stand up and announce it like a drunk?

I'm Puck and I'm a fucking asshole…

He glanced over at Quinn and well...she might actually like that.

Hazel eyes were suddenly glaring into his own. "Why are you still here?"

"We need to talk."

He was serious about it; he didn't even smirk like he usually would.

Still, she sighed—well it was more like a growl, he thought—and stared back out at whatever she'd been staring at on the field since cheerleading practice ended an hour a ago.

"We have nothing to talk about because eventually this baby will be gone and then you'll be gone too."

Quinn seemed as serious as he was, about the baby and them too. The sick churning was back in his stomach and it was hard to shake off this time.

Puck really didn't want her eyes mooning over him just like his mom when his dad was around but he thought that she at least liked him enough to give him a say.

Then that Rachel voice was screaming in his head (again) and he remembered that it was a lot different for girls.

"I want to be there for this baby and if you wanted me to I'd get us a house and—"

"Do you really want that Puck?" interrupted Quinn and she actually turned to look at him.

His eyes widened, this had to be one of those girl questions. The ones that made sure he'd be fucked no matter what he said. Puck thought the answer was 'yes' because he was sure that was what girls wanted when you knock up, commitment right?

He shrugged. "I guess."

She laughed, one of those fake laughs. Rachel did it all the time when she was about to go on one of her crazy Berry rants; the really crazy ones, not the ones she used when she wanted attention.

"Well it's not going to happen. I'm not letting your daddy issues chain me to this crappy town just to make you feel better."

She shook her head one more time before standing up. She smoothed down her skirt before he could see anything worth it and started walking down the bleachers.

Puck quickly stood up too. "I'm sorry."

She stopped and turned just enough to look at him. "For what? I think accepting 'trust me' as a proper contraception method was definitely my fault."

"No," he paused to take a step but thought better of it when he watched her shoulders tense. "I don't remember a lot about that night because a Puckasaurus party always delivers the booze but—"

"I don't have time for this," she scoffed and started walking away again.

This time he did go after her.

"Listen," he yelled and Quinn instantly turned around with those crazy eyes that almost (totally) made him nervous. "You weren't at the party, Santana said you were grounded or something before she started crying in the corner with a bottle of Gin but you called and the Puckster showed up. The rest is just a lot of super hot flashes but you saying no… and that's—"

"Don't," Quinn had her hand in the air between them, almost like she was tying to stop his words from reaching her. "Don't apologize."

She had this weird look on her face and then she left.

Puck was totally confused but didn't have much time to think about it because his phone beeped.

Damn it, Berry.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **_Thanks to all those that continue to review. This story is finally getting somewhere now that the Rachel/Puck drama is relatively over. __Anyway, I don't really have much to say, so enjoy :)_

_Oh there is a tiny bit of Quinn/Finn in this chapter. It's hardly graphic though._

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**Twenty-Seven**

The locker room was empty by the time Quinn made her way in. The Cheerios were blood-sucking harpies—by Sue Sylvester design—and would notice the ball of mush where her abs used to be the moment she stepped into the shower; so a little extra time in her sweaty uniform was as necessary as it was heinous.

Still, it was quiet.

The polyester they used at Sue Sylvester's sweatshop of choice didn't exactly breathe—it preferred plastering itself against her skin after the mandatory 5K practice run before the start of their routines—but all Quinn wanted was to be alone.

Even if she had to deal with Finn galloping around the track like a one-legged mentally challenged donkey—frantically waving his arms at her every time he passed—as scenery everyday.

Honestly, she should have bludgeoned him to death when she had the chance.

But, being out there was still nice.

After the epic failure that was the assembly, Quinn thought that finally her spot in the auditorium wouldn't be ridded with the sounds of that damn show choir but it seemed she was wrong.

Just yesterday, she could still hear Schuester's girlie squeals and the abnormally high-pitched singing of Coach Sylvester's favourite porcelain doll. The woman had gone on a ten-minute rant about wanting to add the boy to the collection of Geisha slaves in her basement.

Quinn imagined it was reaction to hearing Kurt's boasting about the new Glee members to his even more annoying sidekick in the hall.

Apparently, Sam Evans was totally 'dreamy' once you got passed his unusually large lips.

Sue had proceeded to throw-up her morning placenta smoothie while Quinn, Santana and Brittany looked on during last week's mandatory meeting of the state.

Berry had been strangely quiet yesterday as well. Her and Puck sat in the audience whispering while Kurt and Mercedes took up time on the stage interchangeably singing songs and winking at Sam.

Quinn gritted her teeth—as she walked towards her locker—because it was likely that Berry was the reason for Puck's newfound integrity.

She didn't want his damn apology. Quinn just wanted the whole night to have never happened because she had been doing so well up until that point. She almost thought that she'd actually…

Shaking her head, Quinn yanked open her locker and hastily pulled out her towel, determined to forget the last half hour ever existed. It wasn't until then that she heard the voices.

Santana.

Great.

Quinn thought she'd left a long enough period of time for Santana and her after Cheerio sex appointment to vacate the premises. It never really lasted that long. Quinn would've thought it was Finn but she knew Santana despised him.

Sighing, she sat down on the bench, her eyes involuntarily tearing up in frustration. Stupid hormones. Quinn glared down in her stomach's general direction but then she heard another voice.

Puck.

But that would mean he was…

Quinn's stomach churned and she closed her eyes, trying her best to quell her nausea. Their voices became a wash of white noise: Santana's ghetto threats, Puck's grunting and disgusting come-ons and all the while her stomach was trying its best to settle.

Until something managed to worm its way through.

"I don't gots time for this. Berry's dumb ass did this all on her own. You're the freak whisperer, you figure out why."

Berry?

Hazel eyes found themselves trained on the shower room door because that was pretty weird conversation to have during whatever it was Santana did.

Until she heard Puck... sounding almost angry.

"A few days ago I heard you telling Rachel you were going to burn her hobbit shire to the ground and now she's knocked out—"

"Passed out, dumbass!" Santana voice had that outraged tinge to it she always had before she started spewing garbage about Lima Heights. "Just gets her out of here before Sylvester comes looking for blood."

Berry was hurt? Quinn stood and started making her way to the door. She wasn't about to leave the fate of her only chance to make it through this damn pregnancy to the two idiots currently arguing about nothing at all.

Puck's loud voice had Quinn jumping in surprise. It was so close to the door, a lot closer than she'd been expecting,

"Fine, but this isn't done."

Quinn slowly came to a stop, finally realizing exactly what she was about to do—for Berry no less.

"Whatever," Santana scoffed and Quinn's eyes widened as she heard the quietly whispered, "Just make sure the midge is okay, alright? If I hear anything but I'll ends you."

Quinn's jaw clenched—she was done, she decided—storming out into the hall and right into the tall tree that was her boyfriend unfortunately.

"Hey, babe. I didn't know when you'd be done so I—"

"Take me home now."

His giant head quickly nodded and he clasped her hand with the exuberance of an over excited—not quite potty trained—puppy. Quinn supposed it made sense. She hadn't invited him into her personal space for weeks. He just exhaustively stalked her until she gave in.

"Okay!" His voice actually cracked. She would've felt guilty if her baby didn't hate him so much. "Do you think we could maybe—"

"Fine, lets just go."

She knew she was going to regret it.

And she did the moment she stepped foot in his car.

He blabbered on about football and some rib thing he had at Breadstix with his mom yesterday. Understandably, Quinn spent her time plotting his demise until they pulled into her driveway.

Finn followed her out of the car, his eyes shining like heat seeking missiles aimed directly at her breasts. She wondered if he could tell they were bigger. They hurt like hell too.

When he followed her inside she turned to look at him. "What are you doing?"

He adopted that wounded puppy look again and she didn't feel the need to refrain from rolling her eyes.

"I asked if we could… you know and you said it was okay." Quinn shrugged and as usual he hurried to plead his case. "I just really miss you and I thought that maybe we could get closer to strengthen our relationship to awesome again."

It was the last thing she wanted but right now it wasn't in her to care. Usually she'd just lie there anyway and wait for him to move his hands somewhere she'd restricted. Then they'd pray, if he managed to hold out that long.

But she nodded and found herself underneath him with Jesus glaring down on them. Quinn honestly hardly felt the oppressive disapproval her daddy was probably aiming for when he nailed it to her wall. She supposed it made sense considering she knew she was already damned to hell.

Finn made this weird whining noise—as he often did—and Quinn wondered if he noticed the extra cushion underneath her Cheerio top. His tongue shoved its way into her mouth and it probably didn't matter even if he did. He pulled away and sounded like he was choking for a minute before diving back in.

And then she thinks about Berry and finds herself almost worried. Sure the girl was extremely annoying but not enough to wish her sick…and maybe she really wasn't that bad once you got passed her wardrobe, excessive talking and tiny dog personality.

But Santana was all about Berry now and Puck wasn't totally incompetent when it came to the girl, so what did it matter anyway. Quinn bit Finn's lip a little too hard and he just proceeded to copy her.

"What the hell, Finn?" Quinn yelled as she ripped herself away from his stupid face.

He whined a bit and then smiled like the jackass he was. "Sorry, Quinn. I thought you wanted me to."

Quinn rolled her eyes and he instantly latched back on to her mouth again.

Her thoughts seemed to pick up where they left off and Berry would bounce back, she always did.

Finn's whining turned into a whimpering grunt and Quinn felt his hands scratching at the edge of her spankies looking for a way in.

Rolling her eyes, she quickly moved to remove them all the while chanting, "Think of the mailman, Finn, think of the—"

"Oh no, oh no… mail…I…"

Finn bounced off the bed, holding his crotch. The denim visible between his fingers was predictably dark and Quinn sighed as she watched her bathroom door slam shut.

She looked down at herself—her shirt sideways, skirt bunched up, she imagined her lip-gloss was all over her face, though she honestly couldn't bear to look—and she felt sick, like she'd just staggered out of her room that night with Puck.

Unsurprisingly, there was Finn, stumbling out of the bathroom with a sheepish grin. Quinn tried to swallow the nausea down.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm really trying to get better."

Quinn found herself actually responding. "It's okay."

He smiled like he was thankful that she understood. Quinn held back her quip of being too used to it to care.

She truly didn't think it could get any worse and then he kept talking.

"I've been practicing with apple pies like the movie." He sat down beside her on the bed, grinning in that way he did in attempt to be suave. "I think it's working because I—"

"We need to break up."

It just tumbled out but she knew it was right.

Quinn felt no need to pull punches, not anymore.

She reasoned it was better this way and honestly the finer details of Finn making love to a pie should forever remain a harrowing mystery for everyone's sake.

Finn looked constipated, she took it as a good sign. He'd be kicking a chair and out of there in no time.

He was better off.

Quinn was sure of that.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: **_So this is just a little more background on Rachel and tying up some loose ends. Besides, I felt like the girl needed somebody to talk to before she hits complete insanity. Again, thanks for all the reviews. I appreciate every single one. I've been kind of looking forward to the next couple chapters so - time permitting - they should be updated a lot more quickly than most. Enjoy :)_

* * *

**Twenty-Eight**

The Lima Bean was relatively quiet for a Saturday morning. Rachel would know, as it was on the weekends that her elliptical was granted a break in favour of jogging along the sunny streets of Lima, Ohio. The coffee shop was naturally relegated as the end of her run because sadly Rachel still hadn't managed to recreate the indescribable way they'd managed to blend her favourite fruit into a delicious tropical celebration in a glass.

Today, she'd ordered a coffee though. While Noah had taken her home—and proceeded to force her into the seemingly mundane tasks of eating and sleeping—she was still so mentally worn out. Coffee was just a poor illusionary tactic to keep her conscious from shutting down fully.

Her head perked up when she heard the customary bell ring as the door was pushed open and the smile on her face when she spotted her friend—sweeping her bangs to the side to get a good look around—was more than enough to momentarily put the lingering effects of exhaustion behind her.

"Fiona!" she called and the girl's dark eyes connected with hers instantly.

Her fiery curls seemed to come alive as she walked. Rachel was momentarily mesmerized until she found herself being drawn into an embrace.

Fiona pulled away. "I'm glad you called."

Rachel couldn't help but agree. Worry was an imposing presence, especially when it was almost constantly looming around her. She selfishly missed the days where she could socialize with Noah without his night with Quinn weighing them down. He was her best friend but now there was invariably so many strings attached.

"Me too, actually," exclaimed Rachel before retaking her seat and gesturing to the one across from her. "It was quite the coincidence that you reappeared in my life when I find myself in need of it the most."

Fiona frowned, her eyes sweeping over Rachel with a very real caress. "Hold that thought, sweetie. I so need the caffeine to tackle all the things wrong with that sentence."

The redhead was quickly bounding up towards the counter with the grace of the greatest of dancers in the furthest of lands. Rachel blinked, recognizing the wistfulness of her overly tired psyche and eagerly sipping at her drink.

Fiona returned moments later with a large cup of her own. Rachel—naturally—was the first to speak.

"I feel like saying such a thing would be exceedingly dramatic but I fear my life would end at this particular moment without the Venti cup."

"You're right," Fiona deadpanned before bursting out into a fit giggles. "It's both dramatic and so very true. The Venti is God's work, my friend."

They both took another sip, mostly on principle.

"How is Northwestern?" Rachel finally asked because she was—quite frankly—dying to know. The brunette dreamed of the day she'd finally be able to leave this town, she suspected the romanticism of it to becharm her heart. "I'd imagine it must be marvelous, as its reputation is quite stellar."

Fiona laughed. "It's great but then anywhere would look like an all expenses paid holiday when you spent the last seventeen years rotting here. Though, my first week, I almost wanted to come home."

Rachel looked rightfully scandalized. Fiona was unsurprisingly laughing at the crazed expression on her face.

"Why would you ever want to come back here? I can't even fathom the thought… the mere, the—"

Rachel was (tragically) interrupted by a flurry of coughs, as she'd forgotten to fully swallow the coffee now (unattractively) gurgling in her throat.

"Breathe, sweetie!" Fiona laughed, reaching over to slap Rachel rather harshly on the back. "Breathe!"

Rachel proceeded to follow the advice, taking deep gulps of air; her heartbeat slowing until finally she could breath normally. Her cheeks were dusted an embarrassed pink as she looked down at the traitorous beverage in her hands.

"I'd apologize for such an unseemly scene but I gathered it wasn't necessary because I managed to entertain you with my attempts at gasping for air."

Fiona rolled her eyes. "Please, you've seen me do worse. I still can't even look at fruit punch _Gatorade_. It's the Devil's drink."

That had Rachel giggling. The girl shivering with a tortured look on her face only made Rachel laugh harder.

"Blaming such an incident on an innocent drink is highly misplaced, considering it was you who chose to wear white tights to dance practice and you who insisted a straw was needed when the bottle is accompanied by a relatively handy twisting—leak proof—nozzle for drinking. "

"I came to terms with my stupidity so long ago," Fiona scoffed before winking one eye slyly. "It made you laugh though."

Rachel smiled. "Yes, I suppose it did. Now enthrall me with the tale of your almost decision to once again become a resident of our fair town."

"Oh no, not when you're a splitting image of the morning after hell week with that tiny jazzy hand—_I must insist you call me, Burgundy_—dance Nazi before the spring showcase."

Rachel sighed.

There was no use disputing it, while extremely candid it was the truth. Her dizzy spell in the Cheerio locker room had been quite the revelation. She was giving a lot more than she was receiving lately and while Rachel was accustom to such a ratio being widely unbalanced, even she couldn't dispute the evidence when the whole scale had toppled right over into Santana's lap.

Looking into those deep dark eyes—shining with compassion and dripping wet with worry—Rachel knew it was frivolous and more importantly she didn't want to fight it.

"Noah got a girl pregnant."

Fiona's eyes widened, but at the same time they were so resigned. Rachel supposed it was only a matter of time with the lifestyle Noah adopted after his dad left. Fiona hadn't known him before—like Rachel had—so her reaction was probably something instilled the day both her friends first met.

"And there is probably no point in asking if you're helping him." Rachel looked away, Fiona sighed. "Rachel, you know I think Puck is great but if helping is doing—"

"No!" Rachel's eyes cut up to warn her friend away from even thinking of finishing her thought.

Fiona shook her head, leaning forward and intentionally lowering her voice. "Don't Rachel. You know I understand how addicting the pull to enable somebody you love is and I also know how hard it is to break that pattern—"

"It's not the same, okay." Fiona held up her hands, the widely typical gesture of surrender and Rachel's ire seemed to visibly deflate with a small huff. "He's my best friend, Fiona. I can't just cast him aside, especially when I know he's not fully capable of handling this on his own."

"Did you maybe think it's because he knows you'll be there to pick up his slack?"

The somberness in her friend's voice gave Rachel reason to pause but she eventually forged ahead with little more than a blink of an eyelash.

"Yes, the thought has crossed my mind and it still hasn't changed my thoughts on the subject yet," she explained, making sure to tinge her tone with the exact severity as Fiona's own.

The girl nodded. "Okay then."

Fiona sipped her coffee while Rachel fiddled with the paper sleeve around her own. They seemed to have reached an impasse of sorts but it was oddly comfortable. Rachel wasn't mad; the clash of opinions was foreseeable. Fiona's father's battle with alcohol was something that still greatly defined her friend. Rachel imagined it always would.

Rachel looked up, nudging her friend's foot playfully with her own. "Noah's planning a party and charging a cover charge. I could possibly be persuaded to get you in free."

The redhead laughed. "Loved to, sweetie but I'm scheduled to depart this cow town in three hours."

"That's disappointing," pouted Rachel to which Fiona responded with a fond roll of her eyes.

More coffee drinking followed. Rachel imagined they were both thinking about Noah's new found initiative he located from somewhere yesterday during him driving her home. She encouraged it because—honestly—they needed the money and at the time she was too tired to give it much thought. Rachel only hoped the police weren't called like the previous time.

"So this girl," Fiona began while Rachel's eyes widened at the mention of Quinn, vague as it may be, "her parents aren't supporting her?"

Rachel shook her head. "She hasn't told them and while I don't understand withholding a circumstance of this magnitude from your family, I know it's not my place to judge."

"Just be careful, huh?"

Fiona cocked her head to the side and Rachel nodded. "I promise my—day after the torture that was the self-proclaimed one named, Burgundy—appearance won't happen again."

Another natural lull filled with the sounds of the sipping of coffee until this time Fiona picked their conversation up again.

"So this party…"

"I trust will be a complete disaster," Rachel supplied with a resolved shrug of her shoulders, "but as the multifaceted star that I am I have a contingency plan on the way."

Fiona laughed. "Sounds ominous."

"I'm not sure yet." Rachel spun her cup gently in her hands before playfully biting her lip. "I'll inform you when I know."


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: **_I promise Faberry is coming but I'd understand if you don't want to wait. Thanks to those who continue to review and stick with me while I write a story the only way I know how. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know :)_

_Oh and please keep offering any suggestions of things you'd like to see. It might not seem like it but I have a nicely formatted Word document with them all written down. Even Brittana... which I loath to do again lol._

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**Twenty- Nine**

The party was in full swing and like Puck suspected, it would be a lot harder to find Rachel than usual. Finding her tiny body in this mess of people was like a real life needle in a haystack: pretty much totally impossible, even if he knew she was there. Rachel Berry was never late for anything—not even fashionably like all the hot models in Hollywood—and yeah, Mike said he saw her an hour ago when Puck forced him to take over manning the door.

A black curtain and a couple pieces of chain—haphazardly wrapped around the railing—blocked off the stairs immediately to his left. It had been a bitch to put up but at least he knew she wasn't up there and more importantly his shit was safe. His mom would kill him if she came back from his Nana's and something was busted up, so it was totally worth it.

Puck looked to his right into the living room but it was completely dark, except for the black lights shining from the ceiling. Furniture was pushed back against the far wall covered in white sheets—the light making them glow—and people were moving to the beat coming from large speakers strategically placed around the room.

Yeah, Puck threw a bitchin' party… when you weren't trying to look for somebody.

Still making his way through all that wasn't exactly tempting so he went down the hall instead, trying to make it to the kitchen. A few people on the football team were leaning along the walls of the hallway but luckily they were too busy with other people to notice him. It wasn't that he didn't like any of them; he just didn't want to talk to them. Most of them were already drunk anyway.

Finally, he found the person he was looking for talking to some chick. Rachel's back was turned but he'd know those smokin' hot legs anywhere. When he grabbed her from behind—and picked her up to spin her around—she squealed, hitting his knees with her kicking feet.

"Damn it, Berry," he groaned, letting her go the minute the balls of her feet touched the floor.

And don't think he was pussy enough to reach down and rub his bruises. Though, her high heels felt like daggers to his legs.

Rachel spun around, huffing dramatically. "It was a perfectly reasonable response to being accosted from behind, Noah."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, waving her off with a careless jerk of his arms.

Her eyes narrowed momentarily—it was the beginnings of a Berry rant—but then they just seemed to brighten just as quickly. Puck was so freakin' confused until Rachel turned her attention back to the girl she'd been talking to.

Lauren?

He must've looked surprised or something because the big girl scoffed, "Yeah, Puckerman, you best be taking this in small doses if just one glimpse has you leakin' drool."

Rachel giggled. "Well, if you don't mind me saying, you are quite imposing to a boy that finds substance in bleach blonde's with a certain esteem for salads."

"What you said actually wasn't annoying," Lauren cocked her head to the side before shaking it like she didn't care at all, "and that's saying a lot after the forty-six messages you left on my phone to come out to this dump. Good job, Berry."

"Uh… I appreciate the sentiment…"

His tiny friend actually looked too shocked to form any more words... it was a total miracle.

"Yeah sure," Lauren shrugged nonchalantly before her dark eyes started darting around the kitchen. "You gots any candy up in here?"

So he was still standing pretty clueless because he wasn't expecting her. With her glasses, dark clothes and big ass boobs. He dreamed about motor boating them once… yeah it was awesome.

Rachel looked confused too and he was glad he wasn't the only one. "Umm… I guess I can look for you if—"

"Excellent. I will require them in a bowl thanks, preferably before Puckerman manages to talk."

Rachel just shook her head and walked away but not before slapping the back of his head. Was it sad (or so freakin' awesome) that the hit totally jump-started his brain?

It was like his mind was a Terminator computer. Sarah Connor could come kick his ass anytime and such a hot MILF on the brain had him back in the game.

Puck slid closer, eyebrows sexily moving, smirk at the ready. "Hey, babe, can the Puckster get you a drink?"

Except, he was stumbling backward after a hard push to the chest. Damn girl could be a wrestling champion.

"First, it's Lauren not babe. Second your pixie-stick sidekick is already handling all the refreshments I'll need."

Puck gingerly pulled himself up to his full height once again. "Do you dance?"

He watched her dark hair fly around her as she shook her head. "Nah, it's for pussies."

And Puck was seriously at a loss. Girls would be all over him by now, he was too hot to be turned down. She had to want him—she came all the way there just to see him so…

"The Puckster could take you on a private tour of his personal domain?"

Lauren burst out laughing. "No, just no."

Puck hadn't been expecting that. His stupid shoulders started dropping too because maybe he was a little disappointed. Her giant knockers were just so… okay so he found her a little interesting or whatever too.

It was just that fat chicks were supposed to do whatever you want… not that he'd got it on with many (or any because he wasn't sure if Mrs. Hudson counted, not that he minded her womanly curves) but that's what all the movies said, except for that one with Gwyneth Paltrow. And man, that lady was fine even in a fat suit.

But… yeah with Lauren he was that hypnotized guy. Maybe she was making him dizzy with her voodoo witchcraft. He totally saw that Tina chick chanting in a weird language on her phone, so he knew it was possible.

Puck racked his memory for another move—anything to get the wheels moving just a bit—but he knew he was fresh out. Those were his three go to moves (because he'd never needed anymore) so they were standing there totally awkward and fuck no, he was Finn.

He really wanted to stab himself in the eye until he felt somebody grabbing on to him from behind. It was for sure not Lauren and Puck turned around until he realized it was Santana's drunk (but sexy) ass trying to maul him.

"Lopez what—"

"Shh…" She tired to put a finger on his lips but it only ended up slapping his shoulder. "I wants to fuck."

Puck wasn't surprised. This happened a lot—because the Puckasaurus always left the ladies satisfied—and well, Santana was his most frequent flyer. She wasn't a whore but damn it if she didn't like sex. Lauren wasn't going anywhere and Santana was practically begging for him…

He sighed. "Babe, you should really go sleep it off or something."

She only clung tighter. "Fuck, Puckerman. Tells me you don't wants this?"

The slurring made everything she said come out all fucked up but it didn't make any difference. He already screwed up enough by sexing up a drunk girl, so he just shrugged his shoulders because he couldn't lie. He wanted her hot body badly, so so hot...

Until she started to cry.

God, crying was a total buzz kill.

Santana was full out balling in seconds—somebody must've let her get into the hard liquor—and Lauren looked as grossed out as him. She wouldn't let go of him and oh God chicks were nasty when they cried. Except Rachel but Puck decided that the girl did it so much that he had to have become immune.

And then those amazing legs appeared from the crowd. Rachel looked nice too in her awesomely short black dress with these stupid white stars decorating the bottom of it. He liked her hair too; it was messy and curly. Sex hair…

"Lauren, I hope _Sour Patch Kids_ will suffice…" Santana instantly distracted Rachel—by letting go of him and completely latching onto his Jew bro's side—and Lauren yanked the bowl (of his sister's candy) from Rachel's hands.

"I want you," Santana cried and Rachel awkwardly shifted her weight to get a better grip on the crying drunk grabbing at her neck.

Then like always, his Jewbabe forged ahead with being polite and mannerly. "Well, yes, I'm going to go and maybe procure Santana some coffee. Have a pleasant evening."

Rachel quickly steered Santana through the crowd. Her kicking one of the guys on his offensive line in the shin—when he wouldn't move out of her way—had Puck shaking his head. Only Berry.

"Hey Puckerman," Lauren's voice snapped his attention back onto her. "This party is lame. I changed my mind about the tour."

She shrugged and Puck wasn't excited or anything. He was too badass to get all wound up about shit like that.

Or whatever.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **_Well... if you can't tell what's going on with Quinn now, I didn't write this at all right lol. Thanks for taking the time to review. As always, I appreciate it._

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**Thirty**

Apathy was nothing new to Quinn Fabray. It wasn't the type of feeling that had her waking up at night all alone with just a mirror and a broken veneer. No, it was just a part of her, always there, living, thriving: taking over.

Honestly at this very moment, it was the only thing that saved her from running out the door.

Well that and Finn showing up at random times in her backyard so he could lip sync along with a love song mix tape he'd spliced together off the radio. She managed to escape when he went home to get more _Tupperware_ for the drum set he had pieced together underneath her window.

Quinn found herself at Puck's party because she had no place else to go. Everybody at school was there and she'd been on foot. Finn would have eventually found her if her car went missing.

It was just a small miracle that her mom decided to tag along with her father on his business trip to Cleveland. She hadn't quite figured out how to explain the large classic rock singing ogre—beating up kitchen supplies with drumsticks—in the backyard yet.

Gagging, she pushed some jock away from her and left him to face plant into the couch. He smelled like a damn brewery dipped in _Axe_ cologne. Her stomach churned and she really needed some water.

Until she watched Berry kick some guy and disappear through the crowd with Santana. Quinn felt her nails digging into her palms, the sting making her realize that she'd managed to break skin.

But Quinn didn't care.

She was elbowing her way after them until people recognized her and knew enough to get out of her way. Except when she made it across the dance floor, she couldn't find them.

Because every damn light was turned off.

Puck probably knocked over a bait shop for glow-sticks while he was out doing sexual favours for beer and voila, this stupid party was born.

Glancing at the group of jocks—currently shoving glow-sticks in their nostrils near the front door—Quinn sighed. At the very least she knew her next appointment was paid for and Puck wasn't downtown somewhere trying to jimmy open a payphone with a crowbar.

Berry certainly produced miracles.

And when those jocks parted—most of them rubbing their shins—there she was. Slipping through that idiotic pile of limbs and skipping off towards the kitchen like nothing ever happened.

Quinn gritted her teeth and re-clenched her hands. The stinging was almost unbearable but Quinn still chose to ignore it.

Because Berry's hair—manhands' hair—looked like somebody had threaded their fingers all the way through it.

Just like Santana had been hanging all over her, tugging on that red dress and clawing until Berry's ponytail was mused and then gone.

Quinn felt her head started to spin.

"Oh Quinn, hello." There was a voice—annoying and melodically pitched—she blinked and then Berry was there (talking) which wasn't a surprise. "Noah informed me you wouldn't be able to make it. He said you were quite abrupt about it… well he was more specific but I'd rather not—"

Quinn tuned her out after that because Berry's dress was black.

Not red.

And Santana was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Santana?" Quinn blurted out and she watched Berry's mouth fall closed.

The silence only further aggravated her because Berry was all so willing to give way too many words before. Now when Quinn actually wanted her to talk, nothing. Berry just stood there clutching the water bottle in her hands—that she must've got from the kitchen—just enough to crinkle the label, her stupid—lying—eyes widening, then darting around until they finally landed back on her.

"I apologize, Quinn, but I must be leaving. I didn't realize how long I'd spent down here talking…though I suppose that isn't a much of a shock. I hope you enjoy the rest of the party."

Berry gave her this forced laugh and then was running off into the crowd.

Quinn angrily stomped after her, glaring at anybody that dared to get in her way. Berry was so damn frustrating. The girl should damn well learn how to follow orders, just like everybody else.

The jocks were still blocking the door, only Finn was there acting like a loser with glow-sticks sticking out of his mouth. The glow-sticks dropped to the floor the moment he saw her.

Would she ever be punished enough?

It was one mistake.

Only one.

Quinn sighed as she heard him stumbling over. That stupid constipated grin was on his face and his tongue was lulled out of his mouth, panting.

He really was all custard and lard.

Santana was convinced he was some kind of possessed dessert.

A Yule Log, maybe.

"Quinn!" he stuttered out, while he caught his breath. "It's good you're here because then you won't get mad at me for not sera…" his face scrunched up before he just shook his head, "singing for you all through the night. It got kind of cold and I think your neighbour sent her Rottweiler after me."

He gave her a sheepish grin—that was begrudgingly charming—and honestly Quinn didn't want to yell at him, she just wanted him to go away.

Her fists unclenched as she blew out a frustrated breath of air. "Finn, I don't want you to sing to me. I want you to leave me alone."

"But… but I love you and we're meant to be together. Like the quarterback and the Head Cheerio…. it's our thing. It's… just don't leave, okay?"

He had this boyish way of making her want him back. Every time he did something wrong, he'd come back to her looking completely broken without her. It was nice. Finn's need for her always made her feel amazing but her night of weakness ruined whatever chance she had to hold onto that.

Finn Hudson was better than her.

The thought made her sick.

"I don't love you anymore, Finn. You need to move on, okay?"

She gave him a sad smile and left him there, even after he pathetically tried to call her back.

That chain contraption was easy to get through. The lock was the same as every party and the code was still taped to the back of it.

Upstairs was quieter.

Not by much but the lack of bodies made it easier to breath.

Quinn passed Puck's mom's room and the Twilght(ed) coven in his sister's. By then she'd heard the voices.

It felt like the locker room all over again, except that—annoying and melodically tuned—voice was awake enough to seize her rapidly beating heart.

"Santana, you must know by now that this arrangement can't go on for much longer. Not if you don't admit what we're doing, even to yourself."

There was a just intelligible groan and then, "Shut up, Berry. Stop with the pint-sized lecture and come back to bed, huh?"

Quinn's skin crawled, memories flashing through her mind's eye. That night before she called Puck over, going to the party, seeing…

No, she wasn't going to let this happen again.

Bursting through the door—she almost stumbled a bit just like before—but this time she was loud enough to draw attention.

Berry on top of Santana, eyes dark, lip-gloss sticky and smudged. Santana's hands sliding from dark hair and looking completely horrified.

Quinn was going to be sick.

She ran.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **_Ah I'm sorry about the wait. I had this half finished and then work consumed all my free time. On a bright note, this chapter is certainly longer. Thanks to those who continue to review. I feel like a broke record but every one I read makes my day :)_

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**Thirty-One**

Rachel wasted no time jumping off of Santana. Her toes had barely touched the floor and Santana was already pouting behind her. The girl was almost a fully functioning member of society when inebriated, completely unbecoming of the evil she encompassed with sobriety.

If Rachel didn't find herself in this position every time Santana managed to consume copious amounts of a rather highly proofed alcoholic beverage, she'd almost be charmed. Because as always, there was a method to Rachel's madness—not that her cleverly (and completely methodical) plans were at all deserving of such a 'mad' title—but (to be candid) Santana was an especially skilled kisser.

And—as previously stated—Rachel was a (colossal) whore for talent.

Such things went far in distracting even the most prepared in completing their best laid plans, even if only for a moment.

"Berry get back here," whined Santana, now sitting up in the bed while Rachel busied herself with locating her ballet flat amongst the hordes of clothes currently consuming the majority of Noah's floor.

Brown eyes took in the pair of boxer briefs that were hanging off of what appeared to be a waste paper basket. They were decorated with tiny bikini clad women comingled with a few dozen palm trees and it was entirely possible that this couldn't get any more horrifying. Then (dear sweet merciful Barbra) she found her flat resting on top of the pile of clothes near the end of the bed.

Rachel spun around—hopping quite gracefully on one foot until her flat was placed securely on the other one—before meeting Santana with a bright smile.

Predictably, Santana felt it necessary to respond with a glare. Only the haze of alcohol had effectively managed to dull the murderous gleam in the Latina's eyes down to harmlessly sulky.

Rachel's smile didn't falter one bit.

"That depends," she began, as Santana proceeded to slam her back down against the mattress with a groan, "are you ready to admit to the notions derived from what we're doing here?"

Santana (unsurprisingly) remained silent; gaze firmly entrenched in the popcorn of the ceiling.

Rachel sighed. "I thought so."

She was at the door when Santana finally decided to respond. "Don't you want me, baby? Don't you want me, ohh?"

Familiar lyrics stopped Rachel in her tracks and she spun around. Santana was actually quite good if one were to omit the slurring of words and the fact the girl had proceeded to sing the 'oh' repeatedly like a severely damaged record.

No.

Shaking her head, Rachel forced herself away. She had to locate Quinn first, even if the girl's head start depleted Rachel's chances of finding her quite drastically.

"Have a good night, Santana," she took a step out the door before pivoting to turn back around, "and while I know talking you out of going back to the party is futile at least try to restrict yourself to nonalcoholic beverages."

The answering scoff didn't sound too promising. Rachel sighed—and silently pledged to deal with Santana's self-damaging psychosis later—as she quickly made her way down the stairs.

She'd been giving Quinn her space—as per their deal—but Rachel reasoned that this instance was inherently different. Quinn had sought her out and while there was a rather high probability that it was mere coincidence, Rachel preferred to believe otherwise.

She quickly slipped passed Noah's chain link contraption and the drunken jocks gathered around it parted for her immediately to save their shins. Glancing left, then right, Rachel tried her best to guess which way to go because alas there wasn't a sundress (or a Quinn) in sight. Unfortunately, all she did manage to spot was Finn sulking into his cup in the corner and Rachel subsequently went in the opposite direction.

She liked Finn; don't misunderstand because Rachel was sure it was rather misleading.

He was a good guy. A little dim, yes, but the awkward limbo—between boy and man—that Finn largely personified was almost charming. Coupled with his height and boyish good looks, his leading man potential was quite great.

More so, Finn had always been cordial with her even before she and Noah went public with their friendship. Sam and Mike were wonderful but she held no illusions that they'd ever dare converse with her had she not been friends with Noah prior to meeting them.

So Rachel desperately wanted to avoid a situation where she'd have to balk at Finn's company. Such a thing would be extremely rude and Rachel Berry had impeccable manners. Not to mention the likely fact that—in his current morose state—her rejection could be the tipping point for any surrounding chairs.

That lawn chair was never the same after Sam won the coin toss for quarterback one hot summer day she'd been around to watch them play at Mike's.

But Rachel supposed it was a learned act to better avoid psychically striking other people.

Sighing, she pushed her way through another crowd—freely kicking when necessary—and the moment she made it through to the kitchen brown eyes were scanning the area for the white dress Quinn had shown up in.

Unfortunately, she came up empty handed and while Rachel wasn't one to admit defeat, she was quickly running out of places to look.

The dance floor—doubling as the Puckerman living room by day—was entirely full of shadowy figures and flying glow sticks. Rachel didn't think Quinn was one for situating herself amongst them and to be completely honest Rachel's life expectancy was drastically depleting at this very moment for even entertaining the thought of entering that mosh pit.

It was quite possible that the girl just went home.

Despair hit Rachel in a wave, festering low in her stomach until it bottomed out and (figuratively) rolled across the floor. Normally this situation wouldn't produce such a dejected reaction. Her aesthetic infatuation could only account for so much where Quinn was concerned and while Quinn was the prettiest girl she'd ever seen, Rachel was still trying to find an inkling of more than that behind cold hazel eyes. It was a rather important piece to advance her crush into the realm of something meaningful.

And an hour ago, Rachel had seen it.

Unfortunately, while on top of Santana, having been bewitched by her forte for oral.

Or well… admittedly that was somewhat broader than what was needed to be a proper rationale. Not that the one time—she'd happened to allow for the exchange of oral sex with Santana—wasn't quite enjoyable while it lasted…

Shaking her head, Rachel pushed through more bodies to the back door.

Cool air hit her immediately and she breathed in deeply.

This party was supposed to be her attempt at a relaxing evening. Every Diva needed to let their hair down once in a while and she'd painstakingly planned ahead for every contingency that would theoretically derail her train of fun.

Lauren had been called to keep Noah in line—not that her friend hadn't been making great strides in the last couple months—and Santana was part of her stress relieving strategy because girls wanted sex just as much as boys do. Not that she'd ever give up her virtue to Santana Lopez but Rachel quite enjoyed kissing her, as previously stated above.

But it seemed Quinn had a knack for crashing all her (rather brilliant) plans until they were burning right before her very eyes.

Rachel crossed her arms—huffing quite dramatically for being alone on the Puckerman back porch—and proceeded to look up to the stars.

For divine intervention, of course.

And it seemed almost comical that Quinn suddenly appeared in the night, swinging back and forth on the swing Rachel and Noah had put up for his sister last spring. She briefly contemplated glaring up into the sky but ultimately decided against it. Shaking her head, Rachel glided across the grass towards the blonde on the swing.

She was nervous—her heart beating faster with every step—because she honestly had doubts. She couldn't very well converse with Quinn with her eyes closed, probably the only option for ensuring she didn't flounder (so horribly) once again.

Quinn's dress seemed to almost glow in the dark. The white and yellow flowers embroidering the end appeared so real they were alive. Blonde locks just moved with the breeze and Rachel could clearly identify the sudden shift within her heart.

She wondered how one look could be so all encompassing that it changed the entire makeup of her mind.

Was that how these things went?

Rachel didn't know.

And then hazel eyes were upon her.

It was unnerving that her body produced a physical response to them now, not just the usual nerves of possibly dying. Her stomach flipped and she feared this foray with Quinn would conclude with her being sick on the blonde's shoes, possibly her worst Quinn failure to date.

The very thought had her abdominal muscles fluttering, as her queasiness intensified because there couldn't possibly be butterflies in her stomach, metaphorically speaking of course. Such a thing didn't even occur prior to her first performance and surely such a situation would be plentiful enough for them to appear before now.

"Berry, if you're going to be sick, go somewhere else."

Rachel blinked as she processed the request. She had to wonder no more if she appeared as nauseated as she felt. Shaking her head, she fought though it, pushing her nerves aside as best as she possibly could. Rachel was relieved when her fluttering stomach seemed to calm just a little bit.

Sighing, she took a step forward, sharply shaking her head. "Quinn, I assure you I am quite fine. I was actually wondering if we could talk?"

The swing came to a complete stop.

"Look," Quinn sighed, twisting her body somewhat in the dark until her feet were resting gently on the grass, "it isn't like I can tell anybody, so go back inside, Berry."

Rachel's brow furrowed in confusion until she finally managed to piece a meaning together. Quinn was talking about Santana and she supposed that (for Quinn) Rachel did pose a looming threat to silence her by knowing about the blonde's pregnancy.

It just saddened her to think that Quinn thought of her as so petty.

Rachel shook her head. "Quinn, I'd never tell anyone about the baby. Don't ever entertain the thought that I would, even to leverage a favour for somebody I care about. Please believe that."

"Fine, whatever, Berry."

Quinn looked down, her blonde curls falling into her face effectively hiding those wonderful hazel eyes from view. Rachel felt her heart seize in her chest, as she wondered where she went wrong. She painstakingly vetted through her words—analyzing every single syllable—even realizing she'd managed to keep them to a comfortable minimum.

Maybe she could close the distance between them—as Rachel reasoned it was only three steps—but she supposed her choice of words was perhaps flawed again because she undoubtedly could and yet wasn't moving.

Words seemed to tumble out of her mouth after that.

"Quinn, I don't understand why you insist on making this so difficult. Do you really dislike me that much that you're incapable of having at least one proper conversation with me?"

Rachel huffed and stomped her foot into the ground. Quinn's tactics for ignorance were entirely frustrating. She supposed it was a Barbra-sized miracle the girl hadn't started spewing insults and death threats—

"Did you ever think that maybe I don't want to talk to you, Stubbles?"

Sighing, Rachel realized she spoke too soon but at least Quinn was looking—more so glaring—at her again. Dark hazel eyes were staring her down and Rachel's poor heart was beating right out of her chest.

Sheri Renee Scott, she was going to die!

Well…maybe such a declaration was a bit premature. Nevertheless, Rachel pledged to carry on regardless of any preconceived threat to her health. She was too committed to admit defeat just yet.

Her posture immediately straightened up, as she attempted to offer a strong offensive front.

"Quinn, you and I both know that isn't true. At least give me the common courtesy of acknowledging my intelligence." She didn't have to look down to know her fists were clenched and her jaw was set. "I witnessed the look on your face when you saw Santana and I. You can't possibly have nothing of importance to say."

Quinn's glare turned into a weary sigh. "Just go back to the person you care about, Berry. Leave me alone."

Brown eyes widened and realization seemed to thunder down from the sky. That look, it certainly couldn't have been…

"You're jealous… but why?" Rachel blurted out—her tone was high pitched and wavered, as if as shocked as her current state of mind—and then she kept talking. "Admittedly such a thing makes no sense because I'm quite versed in what the green manifestations of envy look like. Yet I can't help but feel your words—"

"Berry, honestly, can you not do this right now?" Quinn was yelling, suddenly standing before her, the swing swaying angrily behind her. "I already told you to keep your crazy conspiracy theories out of my life. For the last time keep your big nose out of my business, alright?"

Rachel's head tilted slightly. Quinn's barely there deep breaths and that menace of a dog barking obnoxiously in a neighbouring backyard melded together in the night sky until, "I can't help but notice that you didn't deny any of my claims. It's quite all right, if you are—"

"Do you ever shut, up?" Quinn threw her arms spiraling in the air; they were irate white blurs illuminated by the porch light and the moon. "You're wrong, Berry! Wrong about Puck attacking me, wrong about me being jealous, just wrong. I wanted him okay. I wanted him and fucked him and…"

Quinn's ire seemed to deflate along with her uncharacteristic bout of words. The swing finally came to a stop, as the blonde panted heavily in front of it.

Rachel bit her lip.

"Do you love him?" she whispered, dejectedly looking down at the sparkly red of her ballet flats.

Brown eyes weld up with tears with every passing second that her question was left unanswered, almost hanging between them with a maniacal grin.

Admittedly, Rachel wasn't as proficient a wall scaler as she once thought or Quinn simply seemed to multiply them faster than Rachel could climb. Because Rachel wasn't at all expecting to find this when she tumbled down to the other side of another mile high-bricked monstrosity courtesy of Quinn Fabray.

"No," was the mumbled reply and Rachel's eyes widened slightly when Quinn started to laugh. "I might hate him actually. He ruined my life. I used to have abs!"

"You're still quite beautiful, Quinn," interjected Rachel, another thought her loose verbal filter refused to keep to herself. "While enticing to look at, abdominal muscles (or lack there of) are not going to change that."

Quinn frowned before almost fondly shaking her head. "Why are you nice to me? At first I thought it was for Puck but you wouldn't be out here being this annoying if you didn't have some bigger ulterior motive."

Rachel looked down—away from Quinn's heated gaze—wondering if she should be truthful. Then, of course, she realized she had nothing to loose either way.

Brown eyes confidently met hazel as she said, "I care about you, Quinn and you need my help. In all honesty, I probably care about you too much."

"What does that mean?" Quinn asked, almost—_dare she say it_—apprehensively.

But admittedly, Rachel's track record spoke for itself, so she didn't put too much stock in her interpretation.

"It was merely—"

A loud bang interrupted the moment and then Santana was stumbling out the back door. Rachel sighed because the girl obviously hadn't taken her advice.

She was crying again, singing as well and honestly, Santana singing Elton John was undoubtedly humourous, albeit it was highly garbled.

"I's a bitch, I's a bitch, oh's the bitch is back. Stone cold sober I's am 'cause… I's hot it's a matter of fact. I's can bitch, I's can bitch, `cause I's better than you. It's the way that I's move, the things that I do's."

She then staggered, tumbling forward until she was spread out of her back like a starfish looking up at the sky.

The tree cover had hidden Rachel until this point but that fall had definitely appeared to be rather hard. She sighed and took a step forward and then Quinn was yanking her back—closer to her—by the arm.

"Oh no, Berry," Quinn hissed, the girl's grip on Rachel's wrist getting tighter and then going slack. "You're not going anywhere, especially with her. Your thing has already made me ruin my life enough…"

Quinn's whole body froze, as Rachel's eyes widened in surprise. Clearly, the blonde had uttered that last sentence by mistake and as Rachel replayed the words back in her mind, she couldn't help but wonder what that could possibly mean.

And then—in the backdrop of Santana's mangled rendition of _The Bitch is Back_—realization struck again, only this time she was entirely confident that she was right.

Quinn had told her.

Rachel was actually a rather apt listener—as she prided herself on having above average communication skills—so she immediately recognized the likeness in Quinn's words.

_I might hate him actually. He ruined my life. I used to have abs!_

It swirled through her mind's eye and Rachel would've acknowledged that she could've quite possibly been reaching somewhat, if Quinn wasn't looking as fearful as she currently was.

Santana's distorted soundtrack had changed to Rihanna—_I's under that man's umbrella. 'ella, 'ella, oh that's my umbrella_—and Rachel stepped closer to Quinn.

"Admittedly, my track record with interpreting your words haven't been great but—"

"Forget it, Manhands," Quinn interrupted loudly with a menacing wave of her hands, as they were astoundingly close to Rachel's nose.

But Rachel naturally—only after her nose emerged unscathed—took no notice. "You slept with Noah because of Santana and I. I know I'm right, Quinn. The only question is why?"

Hope swelled in Rachel's chest, as Quinn looked on the verge or heart attack—shaky limbs, pallid complexion, gasping breaths—and she waited anxiously for an answer.

Quinn forced out an awkwardly loud laugh. "You're crazy and ugly, RuPaul. I'm leaving."

And that was all Rachel had to know.

She grabbed Quinn's wrist to stop her from walking away.

"I think the fact that I interpreted this instance right should negate all my other past failures. Also…" Rachel pulled gently—until Quinn was inches away—and then eagerly leaned up until their lips touched.

Lightly brushing together, hot pants of air painting each other's lips, neither moved until Quinn yanked herself away. Her eyes so wild and dark. Rachel wondered if she perhaps pushed too soon but then Quinn was upon her, stealing her breath in the best possible way.

Kissing her roughly, desperately, pushing her back into the tree.

Quinn was an amazingly talented kisser.

Santana sang on into the night.

"I's will come on over so you's stop making a fools out of me. Why don't you's come all over me, Valerie?"


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: **_Chapter 32 - for real. If I labelled the document that way, I might've been able to avoid this. __Again, for those who like a warning, there is STILL some Puck/Lauren up ahead. Thanks to everybody who reviewed, I think the last chapter was the most I've ever received. I really appreciate it and I promise to have Quinn's chapter up way sooner than this one :)_

* * *

**Thirty-Two**

Lauren was one of those classy chicks, so Puck took her to the good couch in the basement. There were only a couple people down there and he made sure to offer his lap as a possible seat, yet Lauren didn't seem very interested.

"Puckerman, why the hell are you sitting down?" She was looking pretty bored as she glanced down at his lap before looking back up. "This better not be you trying to get into my pants or I'll beat you down, got me?"

He really wanted a face full of her boobs, 'cause they were the only real ones he'd ever seen that big up close—and dude he'd seen a lot—but even Puck was man enough to admit that the girl could snap him like a twig.

The Puckzilla was too awesome to be suicidal.

He was quickly up off the couch, smirking as innocently as the Puckster could. "Nah, babe… uh I mean Lauren, if you don't want to hang down here we can tour the upstairs instead."

He thought she was on to him by the way her eyes turned into knives but then she was shrugging everything away. "Fine, Puckerman. Lets go."

Lauren turned around and Puck discreetly thundered down a victory fist pump before running to catch up with her.

Gay kid and Escalade—Kurt and Mercedes that Rachel voice yelled—were hanging out in the kitchen when he and Lauren walked upstairs. Puck didn't mind, even if he hadn't invited them. They probably tagged along with that Tina girl he made sure to invite for Mike or maybe Rachel told them to come. She wasn't that happy about the whole party thing—because she was totally just jealous of his mad skills—but she was too nice to leave them out.

Still with the way Karofsky was looking at Hummel, the guy probably wasn't going to stick around for much longer anyway. Puck knew he was kinda a dick for walking right by but he was a sex shark and it had been weeks since he last got wet. Besides, dude could totally fend for himself with his girl Caravan beside him.

Puck thought he saw Rachel go outside—his head did one of those cool back and forth things like a cartoon—but the person was too quick to be sure. Her hair looked like Rachel's though, Puck totally dug the sex hair so he would know. He thought about taking Lauren out there instead but if the girl wasn't interested in getting down on a couch, wood was probably a no too.

It was kind of embarrassing that he was so worked up that he had to go with the sure thing—sorry Berry.

He moved the sheet over the stairs and let Lauren go first when she pushed him into the rail to get by. He didn't mind because her ass was awesome. Maybe she'd let him slap it, 'cause he hadn't done that since Cheerio Ashlee wanted him to tap it from behind for the Fourth of July.

The Puckasaurus was totally down with saluting the flag. Damn, there was total movement in the lumberyard. Rachel was right: apologies weren't bad ass or anything but since he talked to Quinn Puck was back, better than freakin' ever.

They reached the top of the stairs and he quickly slid up beside her. "So why waste time when the Puckster can just take you to where the magic happens right now?"

Lauren laughed at him and that sucked. Puck felt himself kind of deflate. This girl was a total bitch but the fact that she could kick his ass just made her so freakin' hot.

"Sure, buddy, if that will make you feel better. So sensitive," she scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

Puck would've been offended but he decided it was fine if it got that hot piece of ass into his room. Only Santana was already lying on his bed when they got there. His first instinct was threesome but then Lauren looked like she was going to kill him again, so he scratched that off the list.

Santana sat up. It looked like she'd been crying, damn, maybe she'd found the vodka bottle he had stashed in his closet.

"I thought you would've dropped Fatty Mcgoo in a bowl of nacho cheese by now," Santana sighed and flopped back down on the bed.

Lauren stepped forward, looking ready to rip Santana to pieces. Damn freakin' scary and Puck was all for saving his own ass—stepping away and letting those sexy cats go at it—but it almost seemed unfair, right?

Sighing, he quickly jumped in front of Lauren but turned to look at Santana. "Listen, you're hot and all but this desperate shit is kind of a downer."

Puck shrugged as nicely as he could—because he knew drunk Santana would take it kind of hard—but even he was shocked when she ran crying from the room.

He felt bad. Santana was cool and everything. They used to just hang out before they started fucking but Lauren's boobs were bigger than his entire head!

Fuck, Rachel was going to kill him.

"That was hot," Lauren shrugged her shoulders and started walking towards him. "Maybe you are badass."

She was finally looking at him like she wanted him. Still, it was kind of twisted that she got off on him treating Santana like shit but Rachel told him girls like it when guys choose them over other girls.

Hot damn.

Puck suddenly found himself in a familiar position, girl on top of him, out of breath and looking hot. It was a little weird with the extra weight but it was kind of good after a while. Kissing turned into making out, hands were all over the place. She seemed to be hot for his abs and Puck was more than happy to let her keep on groping.

Honestly, the Puckster was a little hard up and this slow pace was killing him. Fuck, he needed to speed this shit up a bit.

Lauren's shirt was off, her glorious boobies finally on display. Her hands were moving down, his jeans got looser and then she flattened her hand and slid underneath the elastic of his boxers.

Holy fuck, Puck closed his eyes as her hand started stroking up and down his dick. He tried to smother himself in her tits to muffle out his grunts because he was losing his shit too fast. It had just been too fucking long since….

Damn.

Blonde hair, hazel eyes—that night flashed before his eyes. Puck honestly tried to blink it away because Lauren was speeding up her hand, squeezing him at the tip—

No, he was doing this. Quinn wasn't going to wreck it for him and after he could just make it up because he wasn't drunk enough to forget a condom this time.

Puck rolled Lauren over. Pushing down his pants—boxers too—he flipped up her skirt and slid her panties down her legs. The condom was on and then he was in. God, he missed this so fucking much. The Puckster was on fire, he was—

Something smashed downstairs, the music stopped, it sounded like a damn stampede.

What the—

Somebody started slamming on the door yelling—_Cops, man, the fuckin' cops. Get the hell out!_—before whoever it was started stumbling down the stairs.

No, fuck!

Puck bounced off of Lauren—who looked heated enough to kill—and he was quickly up, buckling his belt and trying not to think about how uncomfortable it felt.

"What the fuck, Puckerman?" she growled, as she started shoving her shirt back on. "Isn't your Jew elf looking after things while I let you get up on this?"

He thought Rachel was—she always did before. Puck kept the party going and she, well he wasn't too sure what Rachel did but nothing ever broke and he knew it wasn't just luck. It was...

"Don't know, but we should probably get going."

Lauren laughed. "Yeah, 'cause they definitely won't know it was you. You're kind of a dumbass, Puckerman. I likes me a body but you got to have something going on up there to satisfy the Zizes' desires. I'm out. I knew this party was a waste of time anyway."

She went to brush by him, pushing her elbow into his stomach as she passed.

"Fuck," he groaned, gripping at his injured abs at the surprise attack.

When he finally managed to look up, she was gone and what was worse was that it seemed like everybody else was too.

Puck managed to make it to the top of the stairs, he wasn't sure what his plans were but sticking around didn't seem like that good of an idea. He could see the blue and red lights reflecting across the living room floor and crawling up the first few steps towards him. It was quiet, so he could totally make a getaway. Yeah, they would know it was him but Lima cops were lazy and they would just give up on him by morning.

Puck ran back to his room and started climbing out the window. He could slide onto the deck from the roof and go through his neighbours' backyards until he reached the park. The easy access was sweet when he needed to sneak out—the Puckster was always in high demand.

When his foot hit the two-by-four of the railing to the deck, he totally knew he was home free. Puck put his full weight on his one foot and started to position the other but it was too late. He missed the rail and he knew he was going down.

Groaning, he opened his eyes and there was damn Officer Cookies, standing at the back door, just waiting and watching him fall on his ass mid-escape.

Shit.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: **_To be honest, I'm not sure what to say to those of you that don't want to read about Puck. I know he's usually something reminiscent of a horny big brother in most fics but seeing that canon flashback scene with Quinn has made it really hard for me to see him that way. I wrote him like this because that's who I think he really is. It's my interpretation and as much as I want to cut him out of the fic at times, it is quite obvious that I really can't lol. He'll grow up though, it is just going to take him a little longer than most._

_As always, thanks to those that continue to review. They really make my day :)_

_Also, a special thanks to Jaley who helped me find where Quinn was hiding amongst the overwhelming amount of Rachel in the recesses of my mind :)_

* * *

**Thirty-Three**

No, no, no.

Why was Berry following her?

Leaving her there should've gave the distinct impression that the kiss was a mistake and then the gnome could go sing jilted love songs in a mirror far away from her.

Quinn sighed.

That wasn't exactly true, was it?

"Quinn?" that voice called from behind her, at least a few metres back and Quinn was proud of that fact. "Quinn, I really think this is quite pointless because I'm determined to follow you anywhere you choose to go until we converse about what just happened but I'm inclined to propose an entente if you will."

There was a pause and Berry seemed to be catching her breath. It was something Quinn had never witnessed before and she'd been unfortunate enough to be present for a lot of the girl's annoying rants.

Well some of them were annoying, at least.

It was then that Quinn realized she'd slowed down to the point that Berry had managed to close some of the gap.

Growling, she yelled, "Go away, Berry."

She quickly forced her legs to speed back up but all that earned her was Berry calling out for her again.

"Quinn!" She wondered how many wild animals the girl had just managed to scare off with her shrill pitch until Berry sighed. "Quinn, can we just sit for a few minutes? We don't even have to talk, I'm highly aware you're probably quite angry at this point. It's just this evening's events have been highly stressful and I fear the few sips of alcohol I had earlier are proving to be much more heady in the midst of my fluctuating emotions."

Quinn kept walking—this time faster—and she heard Rachel huff in annoyance even though she was still half a yard behind. It made her smile because Berry's brashness in the face of rejection was always kind of funny.

It was (begrudgingly) admirable too but she still wasn't stopping.

Quinn couldn't.

Because tonight had proven how dangerous being alone with Berry was. Her lying eyes just kept promising things and Quinn couldn't help but want them. She'd been so careful and still everything was crashing down around her while Berry stalked her through the streets of Lima.

She took a sudden left into the park, not even attempting to try and justify it.

Quinn sat down on a swing and it instantly rocked back under her weight. She hadn't quite mastered dealing with her new fat ass just yet because it was about as custard filled as one of Finn's pyramid nipples.

Rachel slid gracefully onto the swing next to her, Quinn frowned.

Stupid, Berry and her tiny fun-sized body.

Sighing, Quinn supposed her neck had appreciated the height. Kissing Finn was usually equivalent to a freestanding torture rack, so kissing Rachel had been amazing in comparison. She was small and warm and nothing like the lathered up face cloth Finn prided himself in being.

Shaking her head, Quinn glanced over at Berry, who was busy pumping her legs to swing herself higher. There was a small smile on her face—as she giggled in her own little world—and Quinn (reluctantly) admitted that this was nice.

"I'm not mad," she whispered, Quinn was feeling a little dizzy too.

Berry came to a stop—kicking up a tiny dirt cloud with her feet to stall her momentum—then she smiled. "I know. You tend to be much more volatile when you're angered, something I was dutifully prepared for when forced into chasing after you."

"Why?" Quinn tightened her grip on the rusty swing chain until the cool metal was sweaty in her hands. "You should just leave me alone. I've been horrible to you."

And she had, Quinn knew that. It was just easier and it wasn't an excuse, though she did find Berry completely annoying the majority of the time so she could partially blame it on that. She really did want to punch her in the nose like all the damn time.

Berry's head tilted to the side, as if in a pensive daze and then she blinked and the look just fell away. Her small shoulders shrugged. "Why not?"

Quinn's hands started to shake—heat stared rising from her stomach and her vision was blurry and red—because of course (once again) Berry chooses now to censor herself when not just five minutes ago she was just giving it away to get Quinn to slow down.

The girl was so damn frustrating.

She narrowed her eyes. "I seriously want to punch you, Berry. Any other time you'd still be rambling me to death with your annoying personality but when I actually want you to say something you decide to shut the hell up. Why do you have to make things so damn difficult?"

Berry's eyes widened and her hands shot up to protect her nose, as she eyed Quinn warily. Quinn just glared back—and she was thrilled when Berry wilted under her gaze—but then she suddenly straightened up, her hand falling away.

"I apologize, Quinn," its nonchalant delivery only served to aggravate Quinn further, "I just thought the question was needlessly redundant, considering we made out against a tree for quite some time just a while ago."

Quinn's jaw clenched because—twisting and turning, exploiting every avenue to get exactly what she wanted with an innocent smile plastered on her face—she was nothing if not an expert in manipulation.

She didn't lose, especially to frickin' Berry. Sitting there beside the girl, Quinn hadn't even put up any sort of fight. It was so bad, she hadn't seen it coming in time to even know to.

Yes, and then of course she'd start to cry.

"I should've stayed home with Finn and his stupid mix tape," she sobbed and there was nothing she could do because her inner bitch was just obsolete in the face of a sudden hormonal assault.

She felt Berry's hand on her arm and to her credit she didn't ask about Finn's dumb one man Tupperware band. Instead, her hand slid down until it captured Quinn's hand with her own.

They really weren't man hands.

"Finn's taste in music is quite horrific," Berry sighed, almost wistfully but it was enough to put Quinn on edge. "I can fully understand the need to cry at the very thought of such a thing. As a matter of fact, he almost cried when I expressed my beliefs that _Foreigner _offered a much better musical experience than _Journey_ had ever been able to accomplish to date."

Quinn frowned, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. Berry somehow managed to produce some Kleenex from somewhere and helpfully handed it to her with a small smile.

Still, Finn's fifty-three pound head was lumbering through her mind, smiling that stupid gassy smile at Berry's giggling face. Quinn's eyes drifted closed and her teeth tore into her bottom lip.

"I didn't know you hung around with, Finn." Quinn murmured, glancing at Berry quickly but the girl was already looking down as she flipped off her shoes and dragged her bare feet through the sand.

Berry shrugged. "I technically don't. We just share a common grouping of friends. I assure you, I don't attend those outings for him, Quinn. We are more acquaintances than friends actually."

Quinn rolled her eyes because honestly she didn't really think Berry understood the distinction. She glanced down and found herself hazily staring at the boldfaced proof.

"Yeah just like, Santana," she muttered but then her eyes shot up, narrowing with every second that ticked.

Was Berry actually laughing in her face?

Quinn was seconds away from punching Berry's nose when the girl abruptly stopped laughing, glancing at her with skittish eyes. She was suddenly aware of the hoarse growl emitting from her throat, as Berry had once again managed to stockpile her confidence.

"You have nothing to be jealous of, Quinn," she explained all very intensely. "I've been attracted to you far longer than I've been Santana."

"Wh…" her mouth was so dry, Quinn tried swallowing a few times until she was just barely able to croak out, "what?"

Berry did not just say that. Her loud mouth couldn't have just spewed that out there like a matter of fact afterthought. The girl wasn't that socially retarded because this, well this was a lot. It was—

"Well, such a thing is not exactly a surprise, Quinn. I would've assumed that you'd realized…" Rachel trailed off and her eyes got big and wide. "You haven't realized, have you?"

Quinn quickly shook her head. "No."

"Oh." The silence that followed was completely awkward with Berry refusing to look at her—and proceeding to swing back and forth like the tiny lunatic she usually was—until suddenly the girl looked back up. "I'm gathering you aren't ready to discuss what occurred tonight and though I desperately want to force the issue, I'm bound by the promise I made to you. I won't ever compel you in anyway to—"

"Berry…" her voice came out strangled and uneven, Quinn hated the very sound of it but then brown eyes were suddenly staring into her own. Her heart was pounding and she tried to blink the tears out of her eyes. "Rachel…I…I'm sorry."

Berry barely moved in acknowledgement and Quinn's stomach started to churn, her whole chest just started to hurt. Berry's eyes bore into her own.

"I know, Quinn," she finally said before her lips upturned into a smile. "You called me, Rachel, you know? I knew it was only a matter of time."

Quinn rolled her eyes in the face of Berry's enthusiasm. "Total mistake, Berry. Won't happen again."

"We'll see," Berry trilled, her smile still just as big and aggravating but then it dimmed just a tiny bit until it had disappeared completely. "At any rate, we should probably get home. While this park is remarkably well lit, it is getting rather late."

Berry stood up and slipped on her shoes, turning to gaze at Quinn until she reluctantly followed the leader.

Quinn wanted to say something because it wasn't like the kiss was one-sided. Berry knew everything now, it was hard not to infer the truth with the baby in Quinn's uterus. Everything was so bad that night, things wouldn't go back where they belonged and kissing Puck had felt good. The hope was enough to ground her until flashes of lying eyes chased that away.

But they were walking—Berry keeping (surprisingly) quiet as she walked beside her—and Quinn lost her nerve.

At one point, she was sure Berry had received a text message—since Quinn had left her phone on her bed in her haste to leave during Finn last supply run—but the girl just seemed too lost in thought to care.

Those eyes were a hazy brown as they looked ahead and Quinn absently thought she looked cute before Berry was coming to a dead stop. Quinn managed to match her, making it only a few extra steps ahead.

Berry's tilted head repositioned itself and she was gazing up at her with a half grin. "Before we near your house, I feel like I've managed to omit something important in my attempts to keep my word to you."

Quinn shook her head. "Of course you did, Berry. I wouldn't expect anything less."

Berry's face scrunched up as she attempted to be petulant and pout until she finally huffed in defeat. "Fine, I suppose I just wanted to say that I like you. I'm aware certain circumstances have made such a thing quite obvious and I assume that it is also why I'm not again accidently uttering it to your face as I mistakenly did before. Be that as it may, I'd still like to kiss you whenever I am able because I think you're wonderful, Quinn Fabray."

Berry then nodded her head and quickly started walking down the street.

Quinn hadn't moved because the speech was so oddly Berry that her stomach started flipping. She probably looked seconds away from puking on the sidewalk because two o' clock was technically the morning, not that it really mattered. Her baby was happy to be disgusting any time of the day.

Until suddenly, Berry was beside her.

"Quinn, are you feeling ill?" The girl had grabbed her hand and it was soft and tiny and totally not mannish. "Is it the baby or my sudden declaration of my long time attraction because I can agree to temporarily redacting such a confession until your first reaction isn't one of nausea? I understand that maybe my—"

"I like you too, Berry," Quinn finally blurted out and the diva's mouth quickly fell shut. "Well sometimes. Sometimes I just want to punch you actually."

Berry blinked, as she tilted her head. "Umm… I'm not sure whether to accept that or seek out a restraining order."

Quinn didn't know either because in all her attempts to avoid this attraction she felt to Berry, she never once thought about the process of actually telling her. To be honest, she'd probably regret it tomorrow—while staring up at her father over breakfast in the morning—but right now, well right now Quinn wanted nothing more than to kiss Berry all over again.

Berry's phone broke their staring contest but the girl just as quickly silenced it. Then she looked back up at Quinn with those dark (lying) eyes.

"I'm not one to leave things up to chance. I believe in devoting my entire being to the matter at hand until it has been resolved but I think that maybe that way of thinking will only serve in hindering and not improving our situation at all."

Quinn eyebrow rose, as she watched Berry shift from foot-to-foot in front of her. "So from that I'm getting you want to just see what happens?"

It was fine and the sky was twinkling in the twilight hour. Quinn had just expected more. Surrender was supposed to feel euphoric but all Quinn felt was really tired.

"Well no," Berry shook her head and absently clasped her hands behind her back. "I believe now that we know where each of our interests lie we are able to see if there is anything else between us but passionate sex."

Quinn's face turned red. "Umm… okay. I guess that makes us friends."

"Well, yes," Berry started nodding, "I suppose that is an accurate description, though I do hope—"

Berry's phone was blaring out into the night once again—some song from _Wicked_ that Berry always talked about but Quinn forgot the name because she'd probably like the book better anyway—and this time the girl looked down at it.

Quinn was oddly thrilled that Berry made no move to answer it until the girl's eyes fell shut and she cursed softly.

Then Quinn was just confused.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: **_I have one more chapter planned (which will hopefully be up within a week or so) and then I have to regroup again. Anyway, this is for the people that asked for a bit more Glee. __Thanks so much for all the continued support and reviews. I really appreciate every one :)_

* * *

**Thirty-Four**

Rachel's locker was filled with all her favourite things: her dads, gold stars and a colour coded, chronologically arranged (sometimes personally transcribed) stack of sheet music. At this very moment, Rachel was flipping through her early nineties collection in search of the perfect song for Glee.

Admittedly, the last few practices had been steadily filled with choreography—because Mr. Schue seemed oddly fixated on attempting to improve her already flawless routine for _Rebel Rebel_—but Rachel wasn't too bothered. Things were already too hectic to give that man's attempts at ruining her career any mind but she supposed her particularly anxious temperament today would manage to solve many problems for the price of one song.

As was the way of the multifaceted star.

Rachel would know.

In fact, she had just the performance in mind. All that was needed was the sheet music for the piano accompaniment. Yes, Rachel could manage it on her own but she felt it unnecessary at this point to reveal her talent as a semi-accomplished pianist. Highlighting her vocal prowess was ultimately the most pressing objective at the present time.

Her mood had stretched throughout most of the weekend and arriving at school this morning had only seen her restlessness worsen with the rest of the day. It served in putting her senses on high alert and certain instances—that would've normally been missed because her admittedly obsessive personality had her blinders up towering high—were suddenly crystal clear.

Kurt and Mercedes: their perplexing fascination with Sam, their unopposed headship in Glee, the fact that her distraction these past couple weeks had given them ample time to position themselves as Mr. Schue's favoured pair for solos. Such a thing was unacceptable and needed to be dealt with quickly and as directly as possible.

They were discussing singing _Defying Gravity_ right in front of her in the hall for Barbra's sake!

Everyone knew that was Rachel's go-to shower song.

She'd rushed to her locker for sheet music immediately; only to find she was emotionally leaning away from Broadway—and Rachel had always followed a notional barometer in regards to performance—as she fished out her chosen song from the fray of her quite large selection.

The nineties were a very influential time for bonus vocal performance tracks on albums and the angst lent to such a performance would only serve in improving her mood.

After all, she could sing the song quite marvelously.

She briefly wondered if Quinn might like it because the blonde's natural disposition was quite similar to the harrowing vocals found on most Sarah McLachlan tracks. They'd been texting quite frequently over the weekend and things were going quite well for the burgeoning lovers Rachel hoped they'd be with time. The fact that Rachel had yet to see the blonde—with over half the day done and gone—had contributed to her uneasy mood but as usual Noah Puckerman lead the charge.

His mother hadn't been very impressed to find out her son had been jailed once again, as one would imagine. When her stern voice rang out through Rachel's phone in the park, it was quite obvious that the party had somehow managed to go horribly awry.

Sarah had said Noah had swore Rachel had no knowledge of his plans—_he told me you didn't know about his stupid idea to offer god damn alcohol to minors but I find that hard to believe_—so that was the only reason the woman hadn't put in a call to her fathers. Rachel had been inherently guilty but also slightly relieved until she'd had Noah's fate was laid out before her.

His mom had left him in that place all weekend—for learning purposes—and though (objectively) Rachel knew the threat level of staying over-night in a Lima holding cell was quite low, it still worried her quite a bit.

She'd been barred from any forms of visitation, even phone calls were strictly forbidden. In Rachel's opinion such a punishment was entirely misplaced because Noah had been improving. He'd been to class, that ridiculous fight club hadn't seen him in weeks, he'd even apologized to Quinn but then Rachel feared there was a slight amount of rose colour bleeding through. Her unwavering loyalty to Noah seemed to be forever in contention every instance it came up in conversation. It was possible his mother was acting accordingly and Rachel was too blinded to get on board.

Nevertheless, Noah hadn't picked her up this morning, so she'd been looking for him all day. Rachel had been tragically unsuccessful so far but maybe she'd see him in Glee. Hope restored, she turned around—sheet music in hand—and there was Finn, teetering dangerously in front of her with a sheepish look on his face.

"Hi," he mumbled, his hand nervously scratching at the back of his neck. "What's up?"

Rachel was confused—because he'd never approached her alone outside of class before—but forged on anyway, as it was highly probable that he was just being polite. She'd heard about the break-up, so Rachel imagined he had to be feeling a little down.

She smiled her best cheerful grin. "My day is going quite alright, though I suppose some aspects of it could be better but I'm planning on addressing that with a solo in Glee."

"That's cool," He was nodding and grinning, his hand now swaying at his side, fingers flexing anxiously. "You know the singing and stuff. You're like the best singer I know."

Rachel (naturally) preened at such praise because her dreams of superstardom were contingent on applause. Her eyes were glassy—as she looked up into his—because she didn't have many genuine friends based on her own initial merit.

Finn Hudson could be her very first one.

He had—after all—talked to her way before anyone knew of her association with Noah, a friendship that had begun more out of necessary convenience than anything else.

She was immediately beaming up at him. "Thanks, Finn."

The bell rang and Rachel hurried to shut her locker door. She managed to accomplish this all without looking at him, so when she turned back around she was surprised at the sudden depletion of her personal space. In fact, Finn had stepped towards her—as their peers bustled around the hall—but no matter, Rachel quickly sidestepped him with relative ease.

"Wait, Rach," he muttered in a breathy plea.

Rachel jumped, shocked when she felt Finn take her hand. She looked down as he continued to hold her in his sweaty grasp and then realized how impolite she'd been.

Blushing, Rachel pulled her hand away, biting her lip as she glanced up at him. "I apologize, Finn, that was highly rude of me but it is imperative that I arrive to Glee early. I'm sure our paths will cross again when I'm not in such a hurry. It was nice to see you, Finn."

Rachel imagined he was still processing her comment long after she'd gone. It might've been a rather shrewd way to escape such a situation but drastic measures were necessary with so much at stake.

She arrived at the choir room and was frustrated to see some members were already there. Sam and Mike waved at her and she smiled back. Kurt and Mercedes pretended to ignore her very entrance into the room but Rachel gave them no mind. She went up to the piano instead.

Tina wheeled Artie in while Rachel was explaining her song arrangement to Brad. He seemed quite competent and she made a mental note to inquire about his background later on, since Mr. Schue didn't seem capable of locating such talent all on his own.

It was when she felt a sudden looming presence behind her that her anxiety increased tenfold.

Rachel quickly spun around.

"Noah," she breathed, sighing softly while her eyes quickly took in his appearance.

He seemed none the worse for wear—jeans a little wrinkled, palms still rough, eyes still a murky brown—Rachel felt her heartbeat slow, while exhaling every uneasy breath.

Smirking, he opened his mouth to reply but Mr. Schuester burst through the door, once again horrendously late. After Rachel's queries about Brad's credentials, she was going to determine if the level of difficulty was worth setting her teacher's watch back ten minutes to ensure his prompt arrival in the future.

"Alright guys, lets get started," Mr. Schue exclaimed and Rachel was about to follow Noah to the seats Mike had been generous enough to reserve when she remembered her song.

She quickly spun around, ready and determined to get her way. "Mr. Schuester, I've prepared a performance to share with you all. I think it greatly personifies all the skill that a proper performer—"

"If we have time, Rachel," her teacher interrupted and Rachel wilted slightly as he continued to talk. "You know the choreography for _Rebel Rebel_ is our biggest priority. It's a nine guys, it needs to be a ten for the Invitationals."

His continuous harping on her flawless routine was starting to grate on her nerves. Even though she was previously ready to overlook such overt acts of sabotage, this new offense was making it exceedingly difficult.

Her hands balled up into fists, swaying precariously at her sides. "Mr. Schuester, if I may—"

"I have to agree," Kurt crossed his legs, sitting straighter as his hands grasped his raised knee. "'Cedes and I were Tweet shopping last night and the hashtag _idvocalhisadrenaline_ brought us to the VA _Twitter_ page. At first we were intrigued and then we were in a lasting state of horror."

Rachel frowned, she felt slightly nauseous in part due to the sharing of recent (hashtag) facts. Glancing up at Noah, he offered her a shrug of conciliation before he started conversing with Mike. She sighed and finally looked away, pledging to focus on her friend after Glee had come to an end.

Mercedes quickly caught her eye, as Rachel sat in the closest seat.

She was nodding, turning to look at Kurt and then the faces around the room. "It was bad, guys. For a white boy, Jesse St. James can totally sing."

The resulting commotion was a loud proverbial white flag. Tina was stuttering something about certain doom. Artie, Kurt and Mercedes were all chipping in to agree while Mr. Schue attempted to calm them all down. To be honest, it was a mess and Sam and Mike's identical looks of shock—as they took in the scene as well—illustrated the hopelessness of the situation perfectly until the knock at the door.

When their visitor stumbled his way in, Rachel's eyes widened.

"Finn?" she gasped, though it had unfortunately just melded in with the chaos still going around her.

Though Mr. Schuester possibly could've heard her because he was suddenly beaming at the McKinley quarterback.

"You made it, Finn." The teacher clapped Finn on the back before turning around to face the club, many of whom had quieted on sight of the popular boy. "He's agreed to join us and I'm sure he can get caught up in no time. Now Finn go take a seat and we'll show you what we're all about."

Kurt's hand was immediately waving eagerly in the air. "I'd be more than happy to help him, Mr. Schuester."

Poor Finn's eyes looked ready to tumble out as he hurried to the opposite side of the room. She was surrounded by Puck and Sam but the boy sat in front of her, turning to grin up at Rachel immediately after.

With another clap, Mr. Schue's dark eyes seemed to dart around the room, finally setting on Kurt and Finn interchangeably. "That's nice of you, Kurt. You're in capable hands, Finn."

Rachel elbowed Noah when he snorted obnoxiously beside her but it didn't dissuade him at all, unfortunately he was just smirking lewdly right next to her instead.

Thankfully, Mr. Schuester didn't seem to notice them, so she tried to take advantage of the sudden lull. "Mr. Schuester, maybe now is a good time for me to perform? I'm sure it will give Finn the perfect idea of what Glee club entails regularly."

"Come on, guys," the man shook his head and Rachel gritted her teeth to keep from something regrettable. "We're a team in here and I think the best way to showcase that is through practicing our group number. Yes, Vocal Adrenaline is good but with a little effort we'll be just as good. I know it."

Rachel rolled her eyes and she noticed Kurt and Mercedes had reacted similarly as well, though admittedly for entirely different reasons. Though, her teacher's idealistic point of view in regards to their chances as it stands currently was worthy of an eye roll as well.

"With all due respect Mr. Schuester," Kurt loftily waved his hand while Rachel was beginning to begrudgingly admire his quite commendable use of the dramatic pause, "we're still three short of a _Polyphonic Spree _and Vocal Adrenaline are professionally trained by one of the show choir greats."

Tina groaned. "We…we'll… ne…never be that…g…good."

And the pessimistic vibe ratcheted up once again, this time lead by Artie's cries of dismay about joining the club and risking more rides in the portable toilets near the football fields. Rachel wasn't sure whether to be empathic or thoroughly disgusted.

Still, she was quickly determining the best avenue to motivate when Mike (surprisingly) spoke up. "How do you even know these guys are any good?"

"Yeah," Sam piped up with a quick glance at Mike, "I'm sure Kurt and Mercedes know what they're talking about but a couple _YouTube_ videos don't mean anything."

Rachel smiled at the two because their words weren't necessarily, as they'd only agreed to join the club in exchange. They could've been hooked by the preverbal performance bug—though Rachel doubted it, considering Mr. Schuester had attempted to rap just a few (short) days ago—or they took it upon themselves to speak up on her behalf. Either instance made Rachel feel warm and giddily bright.

Mr. Schuester clapped excitedly. "See now that's the spirit."

"In football, Coach always makes us watch tapes of the competition…" Finn blurted out, looking back at Rachel and then at Sam and Mike, "so I think we should all see them and decided for ourselves."

Her teacher's eyes were brimming with enthusiasm as he gazed at Finn. Noah snorted again but Rachel didn't bother to reprimand him, as the situation was entirely awkward. Finn shifted nervously in his seat.

"That's an excellent idea, Finn," Mr. Schuester just suddenly exclaimed, Rachel giggling when she'd felt Sam jump next to her, "but I think I can do one better. This Saturday we're all going to see Vocal Adrenaline perform."

Rachel's eyes widened and pure dread bottomed out her stomach in a blink of an eye. Sweet Barbra, that was a horrible idea!

"Mr. Schuester," she bounced up from her chair, already waving her hands and shaking her head, "I don't necessarily think you've given this enough thought. Surely, you'd see that such a excursion would only cause—"

"It's final, Rachel," he interrupted, his stern voice and narrowed eyes had Rachel huffing and (reluctantly) dropping back onto her chair, as she watched his eyes move on to the rest of the club, "and mandatory. We need to start getting serious about this guys and this is our first step at winning Sectionals. Just like Finn said, we all need to know what we're up against in order to win." He looked over at Finn again but managed to continue on quickly enough that it looked like a broad glance over them all. "I'll have permission slips printed in the morning,"

Silence descended on them all as worst case scenarios flitted through Rachel's mind. This would be a mistake but—as she glanced around the room she realized that the people in it were starting to get more accumulated with the idea—there was no hope in convincing them otherwise.

"I…I th…think it's a…gr…great idea, Mr. Schue," Tina finally said softly while Mike gazed appreciatively at her back.

The louder personalities took over from there and now the club was brimming with enthusiasm.

This was most certainly not part of her plan.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N:** _I'm so sorry this took so long. I know I promised it earlier and I have loads of reasons why that didn't happen. Honestly, I think I should just stop giving myself a timetable at all. My life seems to just love finding obstacles to put in my way when I try to write lol. Anyway, thanks for all of the wonderful people that continue to review this fic. It always makes my day to read what you have to say :)_

* * *

**Thirty-Five**

Puck was only gone a weekend and already things were messed up. Besides the obvious things—his new Terminator mom—since when did Hudson think it was okay to hit on his Jewbro? Puck thought knocking him on his ass was enough but there he was doing his good ol' boy shtick right there in the choir room.

Ew, they were giggling.

That was just sickening—no really, those four Hot Pockets he had for lunch were close to coming up.

Groaning, his eyes strayed down to the awesome Cheerio ass that just appeared in his line of vision.

Damn.

So fuckin' hot.

Puck glanced up, winking at her as she walked by him in the hall and he didn't even bother to wait for the look back because yeah, she wanted him.

The only good thing about his stay in the slammer was the awesome things it was doing for his rep. The rest—being caged, monitored and cut off from people—that fuckin' sucked.

The choir room door creaked as it opened and—finally—Rachel was walking towards him. Puck pushed off the lockers he'd been leaning on and laughed when Finn tried staring him down as he went by.

"What's so funny, Noah?" Rachel glanced down the hall after Finn and then back at him. "Is it something pertaining to, Finn?"

Puck shrugged. "Besides the fact he totally wants to stick his fingers under your Berry skirt?"

Her face scrunched up, like he knew it would. She looked completely Hot Pockets sick and Puck thought it was only fair, well until Rachel started looking all crazy angry.

In his experience, that was the worst kind.

"That's highly revolting," she was frowning, her psycho eyes were really dark though— like tiny possessed lumps of coal—totally spooky by the way and then she slapped his arm. "Stop looking at me as if I'm going to consume your organs, Noah!"

Puck was quick to hold up his hands in surrender when Rachel raised her own again for another karate chop.

"Sorry, babe," he muttered, hoping it would calm her down. "Geez, I was just telling you the truth."

Rachel sighed; Puck thought she looked a little guilty. "While I appreciate the good nature to your intentions, I must respectfully disagree with them. I'm quite sure that I'd know better than you if Finn did in fact have any motives that weren't in the realm of friendship."

"Berry, the Puckster knows what he's talking about," Puck shook his head because sometimes she made him want to just light himself on fire. "Finn's a dude. We always want under the skirt, babe."

She rolled her eyes; he knew she wasn't listening. Chicks never did when they thought they were right and it was so fuckin' annoying. Like Rachel right now—with all the huffing and puffing—she was seconds away from another rant.

And then, there it was, arm waving too. "I know you pride yourself in being knowledgeable in the ways of anything doused in testosterone but if you haven't noticed Noah, Finn isn't exactly cut from that same cloth. It is possible that you think—"

"Berry, listen," he smirked at her, holding his hand up to stop whatever she had planned as payback for him interrupting, "when you're into it even the Puckster can't poach a lady from you but with guys you totally suck because you don't want it. I mean over half the guys in this place totally want to fuck you, Finn too, even ask Mike and Sam, but you're too blinded by the ladies to notice."

Rachel wilted down—her face was scrunched up as she thought what he said over—though Puck was sure she already believed him. It was probably the Mike and Sam thing that got her. Puck wasn't mad because talking about chicks was weird when you were talking to another chick. There were all these rules and stuff of what he could say without being 'ignorant to their feminist rights' or something more librarian in that Berry voice. Basically, her bitching about him being a douche, or Puck thought so anyway.

Rachel glanced up at him and she looked so sad that Puck even felt bad. "So he doesn't want to be my friend?"

"Sure," he said with a slow shrug of his shoulders, "until he gets the balls to move in on some Berry juice but you knew that already, babe."

Rachel sighed. "I know, I was just hoping his sudden interest in me was because he needed friendly consolation after his breakup, not a rebound lover."

"That doesn't sound like, Finn, Jewbabe," he offered and watched her eyes dart away to the locker behind him.

She was quiet but only for a minute because then Rachel was looking right at him. She was normal again, her eyes were back to chocolate milk and Puck was more than happy to see the demon eyes go.

He missed chocolate milk in prison.

Puck forgot to add it to the list before.

Shaking his head, he tuned back in just in time to hear, "I feel like I should apologize. The party never would've been needed if I didn't allow myself to become distracted. I promise it—"

"Hey Berry, it wasn't you're fault." Yeah, once Patches was let go he had a couple hours to think about stuff until the guy got drunk enough to get thrown back in. "This is all on the Puckster. I'm taking responsibility or whatever, for everything. It's the right thing to do, I think."

Rachel looked like she was thinking again. He knew because her forehead scrunched up and her eyes looked all hazy like his after a hit of weed.

"Of course, Noah," she was nodding and suddenly had one of those serious faces on, when she was about to spew some all seeing Yoda stuff. "I suppose I need to stop making excuses for you too. I'd imagine we both do."

Puck wasn't sure what that was about but at least she wasn't yelling at him. He must've been right then. Patches kind of sucked as a sounding board, since all he did was puke and sing lots of _Velvet Underground_.

"Yeah, right," he agreed with her. It was always safer that way but just in case he put in a few nods to make sure. "I get that."

Rachel just huffed and shook her head. "How much trouble did Sarah give you?"

His mom was freakin' scary, man. He knew she was pissed because she hadn't talked to him since she picked him up from the cops yesterday. Well, only to tell him she offered him up to be Coach Bieste's new after school bitch.

Fuck, he'd rather be grounded.

"She has me doing work for, Coach," His mom thought it would keep him out of trouble. "Hudson sold me out about the black eye and Bieste called Mom and—"

"My Barbra, that was you? I was almost positive it was Quinn after her comments about bludgeoning him with a variety of hard instruments." Rachel's eyes were big and round while Puck tried to figure out when the two girl's had even talked since he knocked Hudson on his ass. "While I in no way encourage any act of violence, she seemed quite insistent in her sudden thirst for murder, hence my belief that it was her."

That made sense. Everybody knew Quinn was a little crazy but nobody cared because she was smokin' enough to risk it. Still…

"That's hot," Puck smirked, his eyebrows wiggling to spur his Jewbro on.

Rachel frowned. "You're disturbing. I'd also encourage you to apologize to Finn but I'm assuming my urging would fall on deaf ears."

"I'm stuck doing bitch work for Bieste all year, Berry," Puck scoffed but when she just looked at him like she was expecting more, he shook his head. "Definitely not happening."

The bell rang. Shit, he was going to be late and if he was his mom would probably kill him.

"I gather you have to go. It's quite all right because I believe this forced punishment will be most beneficial for you," she paused and looked thoughtful again before nodding. "I suppose it will give us both some prospective on how to properly deal with the situation we find ourselves in, so we are no longer accosting people or failing ill as a result."

Yeah totally, well maybe…

He knew she was just adding herself in there so he didn't feel like more of a fuck up than he was. Rachel was cool like that and he was done letting her down, even if it meant willingly bending over for Coach Bieste.

He quickly looked around at the deserted halls before glancing back at her. "The Puckster is still available to give you a ride after, babe."

She rolled her eyes, as expected.

"I've made alternative arrangements, Noah," Rachel then looked like she was thinking again—he got the feeling she wasn't telling him something, like all these pauses were her trying to figure out whether to tell him or not—before she shook her head. "I brought my daddy's car today. They're still out of town but returning tomorrow. I sure they'd love if you were present for dinner."

He smirked. "Sure, the Puckasaurus will bring the beer."

She sighed. "Yes, maybe you could just show up on time instead of procuring a six pack for my fathers."

"Righto, Berry." He saluted her because he was still kind of a jackass even if he was almost new and improved. "I got to go."

Because he still had time to make it on time. Bieste somehow convinced his mom that she could _Dog the Bounty Hunter_ him: give him a cheeseburger and a speech about second chances in the back seat of the bounty hunter Escalade. It sounded like bullshit to him but he knew he had to do better—he couldn't really do that in jail with Patches.

Coach's office was a little hole in the wall tucked away in the furthest part of the locker room. It must have been an old janitor's closet or something because it stank of mildew, Mr. Clean and those little air freshener Christmas trees, yet the woman seemed to be fine with it. She spent all her time in there.

"Puckerman," she exclaimed gruffly without even a glance up from the work on her desk. "Sit."

Puck sat quickly on this old wooden chair that really should've been sent to the wood chipper ages ago. It totally matched with her rickety old desk. Having a chick coach was kind of different, since she wasn't hot at all. She dressed like Coach Tanaka but ate ten times less—all of his locker room porn fantasies were instantly up in smoke—but the woman knew football. Try-outs had been a bitch this year.

She put her pen down and finally paid attention to him. He wondered if he was on time because Puck didn't think there were any clocks in there. She kept looking at him and shit he must've been late.

Damn it.

Puck quickly straightened up, the chair groaned under his weight. "Sorry I'm late, Coach."

"You weren't late, Puckerman," she sighed, shaking her head. "Listen, I know things between you and Hudson aren't that good right now but I got to do something. You two lead the team out there and I need my top guys getting along."

What?

God, chicks made his head hurt.

Finn included, even though Hudson deserved everything he got. They used to be best bros until Puck realized Rachel was a better one and the guy was still being a damn chick about it.

"Yeah," Puck said, hand rubbing his Mohawk because this was all time confusing. "Totally got you, Coach."

The woman shook her head. "I don't think you do. You and him are staying after practice for as long as it takes until you figure something out, so—"

The office door crashed open and there was Finn, bent over out of breath with his hands on his knees and okay Puck was totally getting it now.

Fuck.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N:** _Just a quick thank you to everyone who continues to review. This probably should've been up earlier but I've been completely consumed with Castle for the past couple weeks. My favourite brainstormer totally bailed on me in favour of Castle/Beckett so I'm in the market for a new one. It really isn't a hard job, most of the time it is talking me off the ledge of knocking Mercedes into a volcano. So if you're interested, just let me know._

* * *

**Thirty-Six**

"Sloppy, just sloppy babies."

Quinn honestly hated that blow horn. All it did was amplify Coach Sylvester's crazy to ungodly decibels. Quinn winced as she felt her leg quiver and corrected it immediately; unfortunately the feedback from the horn being turned back on meant it was already too late.

"You think this is hard? Try holding a herkie for an hour until Stanford decided to cut his cake. That's hard."

The pyramid was disbanded after that and Sue's eyes were on her the moment Quinn hit the ground.

"Disgraceful."

It was the woman's parting shot and it was directed solely at her. Quinn tried for ignorance but exhaustion made it harder to care, so she left it. Instead just welcoming that sinking feeling in her stomach, as she watched her coach stalk away and the rest of the girls stumble into the showers. Even Santana's constant heated looks were granted an iota of worry.

Quinn was just so tired and those nightmares didn't seem to care. Dreams in which she was dying weren't her only problem but it did make it easier to contact Berry. Texting her was kind of painless actually, once she got used to reading paragraphs of speech crammed into tiny green speech bubbles.

Over the phone, the girl was surprisingly amusing, witty, flirtatious… kind of perfect really. Quinn wasn't about to question it, not when it was so much simpler to stay awake with Berry being strangely charming with overly long text messages. Usually Quinn wanted to break her nose, so the blonde decided it was progress. Finn did prove she was capable of salvaging anything but Quinn still found herself too drawn to Berry to blame it on convenience.

Well, specific parts—personality notwithstanding.

Sighing, Quinn took her usual spot on the bleachers. She was sure her stomach looked like she'd consumed a beach ball last night for supper but Finn wasn't waving at her, so that was a plus.

He was glaring at Puck instead, as Finn stumbled his way around the track. If she didn't already know better, Quinn would've thought his teeny brain actually found her out.

But, no, Finn was making a move on Berry instead. She'd seen him awkwardly fumble his way through talking to the tiny girl earlier in the hall and this would've actually been amazing news if Quinn didn't really like kissing her.

Because she did.

A lot.

There were other things as well: her brazen reaction in the face of danger, her tiny body and heavenly voice. Maybe her obsession with stars was amusing enough to be cute too.

And Quinn really didn't like to share, even if what she wanted never shut her mouth and refused to listen to anything she said.

"Hello, Quinn," Speaking of, Quinn's head whipped over to face said girl as she took a step up the bleachers at a time. "I was beginning to think I'd missed you until Santana informed me you were seated out here."

Quinn frowned. "I thought you two didn't talk when you're sober?"

Berry sat beside her. She smoothed out that hideous argyle skirt but it was probably too short to worry about modesty anyway. Quinn liked contradictions though; irony was she happened to personify a lot of them.

God, she was never having sex again.

"You're quite right actually," Berry was still being shy—fiddling with her skirt—and Quinn found it sort of charming until the girl went and ruined it all with words. "Santana and I never converse much sans the consumption of a few dozen alcoholic beverages but I wanted to find you and Santana was the most proficient way to do so."

Berry quickly glanced up and Quinn sighed. She'd worry about Santana later because Quinn had more than enough to burry her if need be.

"What do you want, Berry?" she asked, smirking at the annoyed huff the girl gave at the nonuse of her name.

Berry made it too fun to stop. Maybe just the name would be enough. Quinn didn't really feel like doing the rest anymore.

As expected Berry straightened up indignantly, ready for a rant. "It is most obvious that you find it amusing to be irritating, so I'll continue to ignore such attempts in hopes that you'll cease drawing entertainment from my personal torment."

Quinn bit her lip, actually surprised she was trying to hold in a laugh. Berry was so freakin' dramatic. For some reason, Quinn didn't find it so annoying this time.

"I don't find it amusing to be irritating, just amusing to irritate you, Berry," the brunette rolled her eyes and Quinn felt that triumphant thrill flow through her, "so I probably won't be ceasing the torment any time soon."

Berry frowned briefly before giving her a small (annoying) grin. "We'll see, Quinn. I'm quite confident I'm capable of changing your tune very quickly. In fact…"

Berry trailed off and Quinn's heart started beating faster as the girl leaned in, getting closer to her. Quinn's eyes instantly went to the brunette's lips. She wouldn't kiss her now, would she?

Quinn hastily turned her head to glance out at the football field. Puck and Finn were now battling to the death over push-ups. Not surprisingly, Puck was winning. Finn looked ten seconds away from leaking custard.

Her eyes snapped back to Berry when the girl burst out into a fit of giggles. Quinn wasn't sure what she found so amusing until she saw Berry was watching the sword fight on the field too.

Puck was only using one arm now. Quinn glanced at Finn—that was embarrassing.

"Oh my goodness," Berry gasped, her tiny hand covering her mouth like she was trying to keep peals of laugher in.

Quinn was biting her lip again, allowing her eyes to roam over Berry while the girl was distracted.

She found herself wondering if her hair would be as soft as it was during stolen moments under the moonlight in the Puckerman backyard. It cascaded like brown waves over her tiny shoulder, the breeze just moving it lightly. The Christmas coloured ensemble needed to be burned but her legs—

"Berry, did you want something?" Quinn asked gruffly, blinking away the haze from her eyes.

What the hell was that?

Berry's eyes snapped to her own, looking a little startled and a lot like lies. "Well, yes, actually. Santana informed me that she had copious amounts of sexual desire to burn through with her locker room companion so I was going to offer to drive you home to allay your wait."

How Berry knew Quinn was waiting for Santana to leave, she didn't know but if she asked she'd just get a long-winded speech—with no visible breaths—so Quinn decided against it.

Instead, she said, "As long as you don't almost get us mugged in Lima Heights Adjacent again."

Berry turned indignant, which was expected because the girl really made it too easy. That sweeping thrill was back just as fast as the annoyed glint in Berry's eyes.

"Quinn, I assure you, you were completely safe that day. I never would've risked your safety in lieu of retrieving a debt for Noah." Berry just seemed to deflate then and was shyly looking down at her hands, fiddling again with her skirt. "Though if you'd like, I'd gladly allow you the use of my shower instead and we could maybe spend some time together."

Clearly this wasn't the same Berry that freely offered passionate sex as her motives for getting to know her. It was obvious Berry was completely insane but she was far more interesting than two push-up Finn. And obviously Quinn really had nothing to lose, her giant uterus was proof that everything was already gone. Not Berry though, that was something Quinn could actually keep.

The sudden want for that, it surged through her and Quinn didn't know what to do. She rarely yearned for anything and had honestly thought that she'd regret whatever this was when she woke up this morning. Quinn silently pleaded for her crumbling wall of apathy to rush from her depths stronger than ever. The only thing Quinn felt was another brick fall and it didn't really leave her much choice.

"Sure, Berry," she found herself agreeing and she'd be glaring down at her stomach if Berry wasn't distracting her with her eyes. "Actually I think that would be nice."

Or so she hoped.

Their trip to the car was painless and so far the drive was quiet, expect for Berry humming along to the radio. Quinn wasn't sure why she was surprised that the girl knew every song to hit the airwaves in the past ten minutes. Hazel eyes glanced over and maybe she should say something. Berry looked fine with the silence but how could she be when she never shut up?

"I think I can actually hear you thinking, Quinn," the girl chuckled as they yielded for a stop sign. Berry glanced at her quickly before turning to look back at the road. "Is there something on your mind? If it is our almost kiss on the bleachers, I can assure you I was only being facetious. I'd never do something like that without your express permission."

Quinn blinked because no, that hadn't crossed her mind but hearing Berry say that did make her feel better. She was suddenly calmer and how did Berry know?

Her eyes darted over to look at the other girl—as the car started to move—and the feeling of being bested clouded her judgment. Because she definitely wouldn't want to say—

"Are you going to ask me for permission every time you want to kiss me?"

Or mistakenly say it out loud.

Damn it.

Berry was blushing and so was Quinn. She'd just flirted with Rachel Berry. So far that hadn't happened outside of the text conversation stored on her phone. But besides being completely embarrassing, it actually felt kind of nice—thrilling almost.

It certainly wasn't awful.

Berry cleared her throat, as she pulled into the driveway of her home. It was a nice house, off white brick, two-car garage. A couple stories and a well maintained lawn. Unfortunately the autumn weather all but decimated the bright colours of the garden; Quinn remembered it from when Santana dragged her with her to egg Berry's house on Halloween last year.

"Well, here we are," Berry suddenly exclaimed, gesturing towards the front door through the windshield, "and…" she leaned over and lightly captured Quinn's lips. It was so good Quinn really couldn't help her gasp of surprise, "I generally prefer just forging ahead. I want things and I'm most prone to taking them. I was just attempting to be respectful."

Those words were whispered against her lips and then Berry was gone, out of the car and… opening the passenger door? Quinn glanced over at that smiling face and Berry most definitely had done this before. She stepped out of the car and wondered if she acted this way with Santana too. Maybe more girls, Puckerman was her best friend, it wouldn't be surprising.

Still the attention was kind of exciting, barely.

Quinn bit her lip as Berry whipped open the front door, allowing her to enter first before shutting it behind her.

Berry then turned to look at her. "I know it's not very exciting but I could offer you a tour, if you'd like unless you'd rather shower first?"

Quinn quickly glanced around the room, eyes briefly stopping on the Berry shrine in the foyer. Really it was like a pictorial biography of Berry's entire life. Even her birth was documented—conveniently placed first and closest to the door—two men were crowded around a woman who cradled a baby in her arms.

They all looked so happy.

It was certainly much more welcoming than her father's life-sized mural of Jesus.

Shaking her head, she glanced over at Berry and realizing she'd been caught starring, Quinn said, "Shower, please."

Berry nodded and led her upstairs, gave her towels and all but pushed her through the bathroom door. The room was nice, very purple but accented with a lot of silver and cream. Royal almost.

She couldn't help thinking about the other people that had been in this house. Berry was too charming for this to be her first foray into dealing with girls. Puck personified a cheesy eighties porno, so this had to be Berry's own familiarity shining through.

Quinn clenched her teeth and shut off the water. She dressed quickly and marched downstairs—Berry had left her some clothes she'd said were bought for her but unfortunately way too big—spotting said girl taking something out of the oven.

"Berry," she murmured, crossing her arms as she gazed at the other girl.

The brunette whirled around, spatula in hand. "Quinn how was your shower? I expect you found everything all right?"

Quinn nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

Berry looked her for only a moment before quickly spinning back around.

"Wonderful. I'm happy to see that the clothes fit you. I was a little unsure that they would." This time Berry turned back around plate in hand, taking a step to place it on the island. "Now, come and eat. I suspect you have to be quite hungry with the amount of physical exertion being a cheerleader requires of you."

Quinn eyed the food and then glanced up at Berry. Of course, she cooked. Santana probably got the same speech about practice too. Still, Quinn was hungry and whatever it was Berry made her baby seemed to really want it.

"Fine," she sat and started eating while Berry ate from a plate of her own.

Silence stretched on—this pasta was so good, Quinn wasn't even sure what it was called, she'd never seen pasta like it before—and then Berry set her fork down.

She stared at her briefly before she said, "Is there something bothering you, Quinn? I only ask because, well I feel like you are withholding something you wish to say to me. I assure you whatever it is I am more than willing to hear it. Up until this point our relationship was never one that was shrouded in things left unsaid, I'd only expect that to continue."

Berry looked so earnest that Quinn wanted to lash out on principle. It was her gut reaction every other time she was faced with those (lying) brown eyes, so she gave Berry what she wanted.

"Santana isn't your first girl, is she?" she spat with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. "I'm sure Puckerman coached you on how to notch up your bedpost."

Berry gazed at her with those wounded eyes before she looked down at her plate. The girl seemed to take a couple deep breaths and then her eyes were back, only this time they were angry.

Suddenly, Quinn didn't feel good about her decision at all.

"Actually, yes, Santana is the second girl I've kissed in a short list of four, one of them being you, as for bed post notches, well I don't have any. Despite Noah's less than tactful encouragement, I'm waiting to give myself to a person I love. In spite of how naïve that sounds, I believe I deserve that and I intend to wait however long it takes for such a person to materialize."

Berry said it so calmly that it just grated more on Quinn's nerves. She knew she should've let it go but she ended up scoffing, "So you're telling me Santana—"

"Quinn, what is it you want to know?" Berry interrupted, throwing her hands up in the air, her eyes narrowing in frustration. "You seem oddly fixated on my relationship with Santana, which I assure you is in the past and only one of friendship now."

Quinn rolled her eyes and looked away. Stupid Berry, she didn't know what she was talking about. Quinn wasn't 'oddly fixated' she just…

Berry sighed. "Fine, the furthest Santana and I have progressed was oral sex during which she passed out. It was as unappealing as it sounds and I don't intend to give it a repeat performance."

"Eww," Quinn did not want to hear that, her teeth clenched as involuntarily the images formed of Santana trailing her lips down Berry's body, "God, too much information, Berry."

Said girl looked at her again before jumping down off her stool and striding towards her. Quinn swallowed as Berry pushed her body between her legs, looking up at her with dark eyes. Quinn hands awkwardly found themselves on Berry's hips.

"I find it extremely attractive when you're jealous Quinn but in the future you might want to refrain from taking such feelings out on me unless…" Berry leaned in—and Quinn couldn't help closing her eyes as the scent of vanilla swam around her—as Berry's lips touched her ear. Quinn just barely stifled a gasp, "unless you're ravishing me breathless."

Quinn yanked the brunette's hair until her head was lulled back a ways away, her dark eyes gazing up into her own. They both stayed frozen, panting not a few inches apart. Quinn could feel the breath on her lips and Santana wasn't touching Berry ever again.

She'd make sure of it.

Their lips crashed together and Quinn mind was racing until Berry moaned.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: **_So this is a little bit of a departure from what I had planned, mostly because I didn't want to tear Faberry apart as soon as they got together... I'm sure there is some that will appreciate that. Anyway, thanks so much for all the fabulous reviews to the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this one as much as the last._

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**Thirty-Seven**

Quinn's lips were suddenly leaving hers and Rachel couldn't help but chase after them, whimpering softly when she'd briefly found them only for them to be taken away.

"Berry," the voice was hoarse, slightly austere, entirely Quinn.

Rachel froze.

Admittedly, she'd taken a rather manipulative approach to attain what she'd desired. Despite popular belief, Rachel was extremely perceptive when drawn to a worthy subject—though she suspected Quinn's jealousy was quite obvious—since it only required a small degree of forward thinking to deduce that it could easily be used as fodder for motivation. However, Rachel had mistakenly omitted the moment her (notoriously unsubtle) prodding was realized for what it was.

She quickly stepped away, looking up into hazel eyes with the picture of innocence on her face.

"Would you perhaps like to watch a movie?" Rachel hastily turned to walk (scurry) out of the kitchen. "I believe we have more than enough of a selection—"

Quinn's hand was suddenly gripping wrist and Rachel conceded to the fact that perhaps it might've been beneficial to arrange for a more effective escape. In her defense, the ten-minute car ride to her home was a vastly short period of time to effectively prepare a plan of this magnitude.

Sacrifices had to be made.

She could only hope that Quinn would spare her nose.

Rachel peaked one eye open and Quinn's face swam into view. Only, the blonde looked almost amused but surely that couldn't be the case. Brown eyes instantly fluttered fully open to investigate.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to hit you, Berry, though the thought has crossed my mind."

"Good because I assure you that won't be necessary, Quinn," Rachel hurried to declare, shifting from foot-to-foot before adding, "I think you'll come to see that I only had the best intentions in mind when I—"

Quinn's hand went up and Rachel's mouth fell closed while her brown eyes darted around the kitchen nervously. So many knives within reaching distance, that didn't bode well for her short stature.

"Just, stop talking," Quinn sighed, shaking her head when Rachel started to nod rapidly. "We're not watching a musical."

Rachel's head bobbed slightly, as it came to a sudden halt and a frown firmly etched itself in place. She supposed Barbra would have to wait—even the words were saturated with burning betrayal.

Still, Rachel (begrudgingly) forced herself to agree. "I suppose that could be arranged. In fact I was thinking _A Night at the Roxbury_ would be appropriate."

After all, it was an excellent icebreaker.

Her fathers swore by it.

Quinn's eyebrow briefly raised and Rachel realized that she was wholly unprepared for rejection. She couldn't possibly sit through _Bring It On_ when Quinn found the (widely) used copy in her daddy's side of the movie cabinet.

"That sounds fine, Berry," Quinn sounded amused, the slight smirk on her lips only further confirmed it.

Rachel was unhappy to note that her panic must've shown all over her face because her acting was far more superior than that. Though as it seemed, Quinn was proving to be her inner Steep's Achilles heel.

Shaking her head, Rachel used Quinn's hold to pull her along into the living room. She was momentarily shocked by the girl's easy compliance but reminded herself that the blonde wanted to be there.

Quinn obviously liked kissing her—that much was easy to surmise—and her envious reaction to Rachel's past experience with Santana further proved that Quinn would rather their relations stay exclusive, well from Rachel's side anyway.

And that was entirely more progress than Rachel could claim for a good amount of time, since possibly way back in the second grade when Quinn complimented her voice in the spring concert. Rachel had sung a moving rendition of _Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah _complete with the appropriate props and dance steps.

Suffice to say, Rachel was tickled pink.

"I'm glad you agree, Quinn," Rachel detangled herself from Quinn's hand to begin her search to locate the chosen video. "Though this movie is full of subpar acting and the plot is highly questionable, its cheesy exterior makes it an odd combination of witty and endearing."

She put in the movie and sat on the couch, careful to keep a respectable (one and a half cushion) distance from Quinn, placing a few pillows between them just in case. As Rachel was naturally clingy—and with the haze of jealousy gone—she doubted Quinn shared the same cuddly sentiments.

Satisfied, Rachel pressed play, settling in as the opening credits rolled, except Quinn was laughing beside her. There wasn't anything even remotely amusing on the screen and a quick glance over yielded nothing but those hazel eyes staring directly at her.

Quinn then gestured between them. "You don't think a pillow wall is a bit much? You didn't seem to mind being close to me ten minutes ago."

Rachel blushed, she was sure her cheeks were the perfect picture of embarrassment because maybe she had somewhat overreacted. She hastily tore the pillow barricade down, knocking it to the floor with a huff.

"I apologize if you found my attempts to be overzealous," Rachel crossed her arms, bristling slightly as Quinn continued to laugh. "I just wanted to ensure you were comfortable."

The giggling stopped and Rachel chanced a glimpse over. Quinn was just looking at her with shimmering hazel eyes, almost fondly.

Unfortunately, one blink had washed it all away.

"We wouldn't want to miss any of this subpar acting and questionable plot, would we, Berry?"

Quinn then quickly turned her attention back to the screen.

Rachel sighed. "Do you see the use of my surname to be a regular thing when referring to me or is there something I can do to expedite the process?"

"Maybe, I haven't thought about it," Quinn shrugged, lips twitching upwards as Rachel exhaled her annoyance loudly.

Following that, the two sat in silence with only the sounds of the movie as a backdrop.

Until Rachel's phone signaled the arrival of a new text message. With a quick glance, she sighed and swiftly turned off her phone, placing the phone (screen down) onto the coffee table. She could feel Quinn's eyes on her and Rachel wasn't shy about meeting them.

"Noah seems very fond of complaining about his forced punishment with Coach Bieste," Rachel rolled her eyes because she highly doubted besting Finn in the juvenile competitions she'd witnessed earlier were even a little bit excruciating for him. "His mother seems to think that all his problems stem from his rocky relationship with Finn."

Quinn shifted slightly but her eyes never left the screen. "It's not though, is it?"

Rachel wasn't entirely sure on the proper course of action because—to be honest—she wanted to break Noah's confidence and share everything. Perhaps then Quinn would ponder giving him a chance, though Rachel didn't quite like the thought of her position as mediator being rendered obsolete.

"No," she sighed, shaking her head, her brown eyes boring into the side of Quinn's face. "Noah is still very upset about his father, circumstances with you seem to be making it worse."

Quinn stiffened and Rachel did so as well, purely a reactionary move learned from long exposure to the blonde's ever-fluctuating moods.

"I told him not to be sorry," Quinn murmured lowly, her gorgeous jaw line hardening, marring its beauty as she clenched her teeth.

Rachel's hands itched to reach out and wipe that tension away but she reasoned it was highly dangerous. Initiating the kiss in the car—and the subsequent move in the kitchen—had depleted all of the daring she'd had in supply.

She clasped her hands in her lap, looking at them as she said, "I don't think it works that way unfortunately, though I'm confused as to why you don't feel he needs to be apologetic. Though he still pledges to be hazy on the details, what he does remember certainly—"

"He just doesn't, okay!" interrupted Quinn and brown eyes flew up to stare at the blonde.

Rachel had definitely not been expecting such an outburst. In fact, she hadn't even meant to bring such a topic up—as it was highly awkward for both of them and entirely something she wanted to avoid—considering the abysmal way their last conversation about it had gone.

Still, curiosity killed the cat, as they say. Rachel just couldn't resist.

"I find that makes absolutely no sense, Quinn..." she trailed off as her thoughts started flying, her eyes briefly darted around to locate a pen, "unless your recollection of that night is much clearer than Noah's in which I'd greatly encourage you to share your—"

Quinn turned to looked at her and Rachel's thoughts stopped cold, stuck in the mossy green abyss that those (customarily) wonderfully hazel eyes had become.

Rachel was mesmerized or at the very least too scared to death, as this look was very similar to the one that surfaced before threats of bodily harm and slurs attacking her femininity.

But Quinn's eyes just shifted away. "We are watching the movie, Berry."

Rachel wanted answers.

She wanted to know the circumstances of that night and feel as if Quinn valued her enough to confide in her. She wanted to be able to fully forgive Noah and not ignore her feelings to ensure he wasn't a masked bank robber featured on the eleven o'clock news. But ultimately, it wasn't any of her business. Three kisses and a slue of flirty text messages didn't amount to an indisputable right to demand to know.

So, she sighed and pushed down that wanting deep within her chest. "I suppose we can but I encourage you to share your recollection with Noah, Quinn. He does deserve to know because whether you like it or not, you two are invariably stuck in that night and to move on such a conversation needs to occur. I believe it would be best for both of you. At the very least, it would afford you a good nights sleep."

Silence stretched and Rachel sat with baited breath, just waiting for Quinn's reaction to her words. But, unfortunately, the seconds ticked by, Chris Kattan and that other guy maneuvered themselves closer to their dreams of owning a night club and Quinn didn't offer anything.

Rachel was just about to concede defeat and then, "The next doctors appointment is Friday. I want you to be there and I guess Puck has to come too since he got himself arrested to pay for it."

It was said softly, almost a whisper but it definitely sounded like success.

Beaming, Rachel quickly nodded. "Of course, Quinn. We have a ridiculous Glee sanctioned trip in the afternoon, thanks to Finn's attempts to impress me and Mr. Schuester's odd fixation with ruining my career, but we should be back with more than enough time to spare."

"What?" Quinn's eyes narrowed, as she glanced Rachel's way. "He's in Glee now?"

Rachel sighed. "Yes, he arrived during today's practice and while it's actually quite flattering that he'd put aside his reputation to do something on my behalf, however futile and misguided it may be, this trip will only amount in disaster for all parties involved."

"Great," Quinn grumbled and hazel eyes were back to glaring at the television set.

Rachel just rolled her eyes and grabbed the blonde's hand.

It seemed to calm Quinn down, if only a little bit.

Rachel was (undoubtedly) thrilled to say the least.


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: **_Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, they completely make my day. I really appreciate every single one :)_

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**Thirty-Eight**

Puck thought it was necessary to break while two guys crossed the road up ahead. Technically, he could've run them down. The light was yellow—jaywalking was a total crime—and he only had to slow down to follow the rules.

Still, murder was murder and not very badass unless he was a contracted ninja assassin. He'd totally have a samurai sword, Puck thought as he pushed on the break. No, nun-chucks. They were way more wicked because—

"Noah if you don't speed up, I'll skin you alive and castrate the rest," Rachel screeched from beside him, huffing and those evil eyes were back and glaring at him.

He swallowed. "Babe, the light's red now. Just calm down, okay?"

The loud gasping sound she was making was kind of scary and he was sort of worried she couldn't breath until she started hitting him.

Fuck.

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down, Noah Puckerman!" More hitting, he stepped on the gas when the light changed and thank God she fell back into her seat with a glare. "If you hadn't arrived late to pick me up this morning, we wouldn't be running late. Such a thing directly correlates with the speed in which you'd be expected to go, so this is entirely your fault."

That was kind of true.

Puck slept through the alarm he set on his phone. Stupid Schumacher was making them leave at like the crack of dawn. Apparently, his broke ass could only afford the matinee.

"Babe…" Puck started but a quick scary glare changed his mind, "Rach, I'll get us there I promise. Besides weren't you all against this whole thing anyway?"

Rachel scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and totally pushing her boobs up, through in that animal sweater he couldn't really see much. "Of course, I am. The entire idea of viewing our competition, especially in regards to Vocal Adrenaline, is simply preposterous."

"Sure, Berry, whatever you say," he yawned—the coffee Rachel brought with breakfast wasn't helping his tiredness at all—before cutting his eyes back to her, his eyebrows jumping up and down. "It can't be that bad."

Rachel rolled her eyes, as expected. "Please, Noah, you're thrilled by anything that gives you a legitimate excuse to be absent from class for a day."

Well yeah. His new robo-mom made it impossible to ditch. Not that he really had anything to do. His two favourite things (sleeping and sex) had gone to shit lately and he could eat in class so there went the third. His life was just sucking all around actually, except for maybe Quinn and his kid. Apologizing actually felt good or whatever. She kind of freaked out but Quinn was confusing most of the time.

"Yeah," he nodded, his eyes casting over to hers with a wink, "my mom even thought I was lying when I gave her Schue's stupid slip to sign yesterday."

Again with the eye rolling, Puck was starting to think that she spent way too much time with Santana doing whatever they did. Santana was drunk all the time, so it was probably crying.

"Yes, I'm aware," she sighed before immediately straightening up when they pulled into the school parking lot with two minutes to spare—fuckin' ace! "She contacted me to question its validity."

He turned off his truck and Rachel flew out the doors, running to the retard kid bus Schue probably stole from the blind.

"Damn, a short bus," he grumbled and reluctantly followed after.

Puck briefly wondered if Hudson would even fit, then he saw him slobbering all over his Jewbro feet away. Sam and Mike were looking at him with weird looks on their faces, which meant he was probably being a jackass again.

"Noah," Rachel yelled suddenly before lunging for his hand to pull him to her quicker. "Could you please inform Finn that I am in fact not exaggerating when I say that you need me by your side at all times during the commission of long trips to assist in soothing your motion sickness?"

Oh so maybe Berry was being the jackass.

Still, he owed her.

Sighing, Puck grabbed his stomach and started nodding. "Oh yeah, dude. I totally blow chunks without her."

Berry turned around—her lips mouthing thank you—before dragging him to the very back of the bus. Puck guessed she didn't want Finn sitting behind her either. Mike and Sam quickly fell into the seats in front of them so Rachel was in the corner near the window by the time Finn came stumbling in. He glared and then sat next to Artie in the front.

Smiling, Rachel said, "I appreciate you marring your nefarious reputation for me."

"My pleasure, babe," he winked, smirking when she finally shifted to look up at him. "You can't avoid him forever, you know?"

She almost looked like she was pouting; it was kind of cute with her creepy sweater with some kind of dog on the front. Well, maybe, Puck wasn't too sure.

Rachel sighed. "I'm quite aware. I'm just hoping that in time he'll move on to another conquest for his urge for a rebound before he does something that deems our would-be friendship irreparable."

"Yeah, wouldn't hold my breath, babe," Puck laughed.

Rachel was glaring at him when Schue came in. He was talking but nobody was really paying attention, except for maybe his Jewbro.

Puck put his headphones in, _Detroit Rock City_ blaring through them and finally fully drowning out Schuemaker's girly cries. Yeah, he should just really keep calling him Schue for short—totally easier.

He must've fell asleep because _Rage Against the Machine_ definitely weren't _Kiss _and the bus was moving. Rachel was shaking his arm and he paused it just in time to catch, "Noah, we need to talk. I've been thinking a lot since your sudden release from incarceration and I feel like perhaps we need some space."

Puck wiped his face with his hands; he was still totally drained but that shiny look to her eyes made him think this was important. Sure, he was confused but for only a moment.

Smirking, his eyebrows went up and down. "If you want some time to put the moves on Quinn all you had to do was ask."

"Noah!" Rachel gasped, glancing frantically around and only calming down when she realized everyone around them was out cold. Still, he readied himself for a rant anyway and he was not disappointed. "Noah, that was highly inappropriate and a completely unfounded accusation. Don't you think Quinn has enough to deal with? Announcing such a thing near two of the biggest gossip hounds in the school is highly dangerous so—"

"So you actually got some, huh?" he said it lower this time.

He wasn't a complete asshole.

Still, it wasn't enough for his Jewbro—he should've expected.

"It's none of your business quite frankly and we are not conversing about it here any longer, Noah Puckerman," she stabbed his chest—like tiny tiny needles—and then after a few dozen pokes her hand fell back on her thigh. "My belief that we need time apart isn't because of Quinn, Noah."

Now Puck was confused and he really didn't like this idea. They were fine the way things were. She nagged him to do stuff and he pissed her off. Why the hell would she want to change that?

She looked serious though. Her eyes were nice and dark—not crazy and black—and her face was scrunched up like it always was when she was thinking.

Sighing, he said, "Why, babe? Everything seems fine to me."

"Admittedly, we could survive with things continuing as they are but I feel like we both deserve more than that," Rachel was looking at him to check if what she said made any sense—which it didn't—and then she sighed, "I feel as if my actions are enabling you, Noah. You do reckless things all the time and never feel the brunt of the consequences for them. The majority of the time, I do and that's quite alright but I believe that the entire situation these past couple of months could've been avoided if you had experienced them."

Puck didn't understand. He owned up to his mistakes or whatever by apologizing and his mom left him to rot in jail because of that damn party for the cash for Quinn. That wasn't enough?

He shook his head. "I still don't get what this has to do with me being friends with you."

"We'll always be friends, Noah," she said softly, reaching out to grip his arm before her hand fell away. "I'll still attend your football games and we can recommence bro's nights if you so choose. I suppose I just require some time for myself to determine who I am beyond your best friend."

Puck wasn't too sure what she was telling him still but he knew she needed him to let her do it. He wanted to say this was a chick thing—like he did with most of the stuff Rachel did that confused him—but it seemed pretty serious, not like the other chick stuff before. Still, he found himself nodding and a relieved smile appeared on her face.

"Sure, babe," he nodded, knowing if he didn't fake it she might do something crazy like cut him forever. "I get it."

Rachel was hugging him seconds later, looking up at him with bright eyes. "I was confident you would, Noah. You don't know how much this means to me."

She was right, Puck didn't but he was going to give it to her anyway. "Yeah, no problem, jewbabe."

"Oh," she quickly pulled back and out of his arms with a jolt, "I entirely forgot to remind you about the doctor's appointment. It's at four and I'm so excited to witness the determination of gender because I was reading…"

Gender?

Sure, Rachel told him Quinn wanted him to go but his kid was getting a gender?

It just happened, just like that?

Puck looked over at Rachel to see if he could still catch anything about what she read but she was already giggling softly as she typed something into her phone.

Puck suddenly felt sick.

Ironic.

Berry's obsession with that hot chick Alanis taught him all about that.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: **_I was going to wait to post this but oh well. Enjoy! Oh and a thanks to those that continue to review, even those select few that only review to complain. I really appreciate it :)_

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**Thirty-Nine**

Practice was cancelled. Coach Sylvester had said her human trafficker—Lo Ping—finally got a new shipment of Geisha slaves in. Quinn wasn't going to question it; instead she went out to the bleachers to eat the breakfast Berry left in a bag in her locker.

Quinn wasn't sure how the girl did it, especially today when her loser club was rewarded with a day pass. Sighing, she bit into the granola bar—wrapped in wax paper and seemingly homemade—even making fun of Berry didn't have the same thrill to it.

Because Quinn was finding—God, help her—that she actually liked spending time with Berry. Even just watching movies was much more fun than it had ever been with Finn.

She was still calling her Berry though—the Diva's annoyance made it too amusing to stop—but maybe she could try using Rachel in her head.

Rachel.

Her heart beat a little bit faster—it was sickening and all the stupid babies fault. Quinn closed her eyes as sudden thoughts of the appointment fluttered through her head.

She was nervous because before it had been easier to desensitize herself to the baby growing inside of her. It had just been the size of a bean, actually that's exactly what it looked like too and now…

Ber…Rachel said her baby was a fetus because she'd been reading up in her spare time apparently. A boy fetus or a girl fetus, Quinn's eyes snapped open when she felt herself wanting one over the other.

That's when Santana's face swam into view. Quinn crumpled up her granola bar wrapper as the girl moved closer.

"Q," Santana offered apathetically, as she passed by and sat on the bench above her.

Quinn rolled her eyes at the girl's predictability. It was why Santana would always have Quinn's knees digging into her back: the girl's arrogance in believing she could ever intimidate her. No, Quinn just sabotaged herself, leaving Santana to win by default. Still, she'd never be a rest for anybody's knees, unless it was metaphorically.

Quinn absently smiled at the tiny gold star stuck on the top of her thermos of apple juice. God, her heart was beating faster again.

"You're looking better, S." Quinn fought with the cap until she was pouring her juice into the tiny thermos cup. "The last time I saw you, you really hit a new low."

Berry on top of Santana, eyes dark, lip-gloss sticky and smudged, Quinn's hand shook briefly but she righted it before any apple juice spilled onto her uniform. Coach would kill her—and then order her dead corpse to pay for the dry-cleaning—but whatever it took. Nobody was ever touching Rachel, much less Santana.

And then Quinn was suddenly being threatened in Spanish, though only backhandedly in muttered whispers. She sipped from her cup as she basked in the thrill of having won, now only having to wait for Santana to accept it.

Looking in the brown bag, she almost salivated over the smell of the breakfast sandwich resting in the bottom. She usually ate it right away before Finn came lumbering to her side in the mornings. Now that he was gone, Quinn found she liked to savor it a bit. Still, she'd have to deal with Santana first because it definitely wasn't an allotted food by Coach Sue and the girl would have no problems letting Coach know.

Santana sighed. "What do you want?"

Quinn tilted her head slightly, still looking straight ahead—because she refused to look up at Santana like the girl wanted—just finishing her juice instead. It was cold, which meant Rachel hadn't put it in her locker the night before.

"I'm joining Glee Club," Quinn said nonchalantly, as she begun to pack up her things. "I want you to join with me."

Rachel would be happy with the new members and Quinn would be able to judge if Santana needed to be dealt with further while reaping the rewards of Rachel's appreciation. It was perfect really, who cares if her tired psyche had stolen it from Finn Hudson.

Santana laughed, slapping her knees and leaning forward. "Why, I thought you cut the dough boy loose? If you still wants to get all up in his crescent rolls all you have to do is dangle a little butter."

If only it were that easy.

Quinn stood, slowly turning to tower over her second in command and it felt good to see Santana begrudgingly glaring up at her, knowing she'd been bested in every way. "Practice for our audition is at lunch, don't be late. It's nice to see you out of bed, S."

And then she walked away one hand on her hip, since the other was filled with the bag Rachel left.

"You think Coach will just let you do this, blondie?" Santana yelled at her back from the bleachers but Quinn didn't stop.

She needed a microwave for her sandwich, she was so frickin' hungry. Santana's—unfortunately valid—point could wait.

The walk to the lunchroom was short. Nobody of importance was in there so Quinn waited for her lukewarm sandwich to heat up before she quickly sat to unwrap it. It was so good, just like every other time and she wasn't sure when she became so ravenous for bacon but God it was yummy.

Wipping her hands—because it had embarrassingly taken her only four bites to consume the entire thing—she pulled out her phone to text Rachel.

_I'll find out how you put breakfast in my locker, Berry_

While she waited, Quinn poured herself another cup of juice, finishing the last of it off. She rolled her eyes when her heart began to flutter as she heard her phone's familiar ping.

_I'd like to see you try, Fabray_

Quinn smiled; Rachel's new tactic of calling her Fabray was almost cute, even if it wasn't going to work.

To be honest, Quinn wasn't sure why this was so easy. Everyday she woke up—from the little sleep she got—expecting to think about Rachel and panic. Going down stairs—sitting across from her father—she almost wanted to feel guilty, which she did but not because of Rachel. Did the impiety found in one sin absolve her from feeling the other?

Shaking her head, she unlocked—the now dormant screen—to answer back.

_You're on, Berry. I haven't decided yet what I want when I win._

Lips touching lips, gasping breaths, wandering hands, Quinn quickly blinked the thoughts away, deciding a plate of breakfast sandwiches would be much safer. She could feel the heat slowly rising to her cheeks.

Thank God, for her phone. She immediately opened the message, her fingers fumbling slightly and it saw her phone tumble to the table with a thud. Sighing, she picked it back up with a roll of her eyes.

_Oh, I see I've inadvertently inspired a competition of sorts, which is quite all right because Rachel Berry doesn't lose. In fact, when I do ultimately best you and you admit defeat, you and I will venture out on our first date. _

Quinn had just finished reading and just as quickly there was another ping.

_Oh we've arrived, 'till later Quinn._

Gapping at her phone, Quinn shook her head in disbelief as the warning bell rang. Tucking it away, she slowly made it out of the room, laughing quietly as she went. She was sure she looked about as crazy as the girl she was currently clandestinely texting on her phone.

It would certainly explain her sudden desire to lose and where her sense of pride had disappeared off too.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: **_This is certainly longer than I expected, it honestly felt like the chapter that would not end lol. Anyway, a friend of mine asked for this chapter to include her favourite guy and she never asks me to write anything so I couldn't say no. Hopefully nobody minds too much. I'm not sure if he'll become an integral character or just pop up now and then... we'll see I suppose._

_Again, thanks to all those that continue to take the time to review. I always appreciate it :)_

* * *

**Forty**

Mr. Schuester was just brimming with excitement. He had them collected all in a little group off to the side of the front door, hands clasped as he begun his feel good speech.

"I know you're excited guys. Thanks to Finn's great idea," he clapped his hand on said boy's shoulder, effectively dislodging Finn's gaze from Rachel, "we've finally got a chance to get serious about this thing. I want you all paying attention—"

"That's what we do for the video, Mr. Schue," Finn said, scratching the back of his head and casting a sheepish grin around on behalf of their teacher. "We should just take it all in until then, you know? Isn't that important?"

Mr. Schuester stuttered briefly before nodding in earnest, his eyes lighting up at the suggestion. "Exactly, Finn. I'm sure we can find some way to record—"

"They sell a compilation disc of all their performances at the merchandise booth, Mr. Schuester," Rachel offered, grinning brightly even if she felt completely exasperated, especially with Noah unattractively snorting laughter beside her.

Her teacher frowned. "Oh, well thanks Rachel but I think—"

"See Rach totally gets it." Finn interrupted, though Rachel doubted he was able to realize such a faux pas. He was too busy gazing at her with hazy brown eyes until the concession stand to her left drew his attention away. "I wonder if they have _Sour Patch Kids_."

He wandered off and—taking Finn's lead—everybody dispersed as well, leaving Mr. Schuester to ponder alone. The man looked to be actually pouting by the time Rachel caught up with Finn, a very real agenda in mind.

Her previous texting with Quinn had her worried. Mostly because she hadn't—as of yet—received a reply back. She could've perhaps been a touch too forward, she decided, as the highlights of the conversation rolled through her mind's eye. Rachel didn't want such a misstep to knock them back into the dark days of complete ignorance on Quinn's part.

And Finn had been there before, so surely he'd be a reputable source to screen her conversation with Quinn through. A very abridged version of course but nonetheless his knowledge should be enough to inspire a proper course of action to thwart any possible wrongdoings before they festered out of control.

The very real danger of encouraging Finn's slight infatuation (with her) was indeed within the bounds of acceptable risk.

Well, Rachel certainly hoped so anyway.

"Hello, Finn," she greeted, as she slid up next to him in the line. Rachel could feel Noah watching from somewhere behind her. His exact position was unknown because she refused to look. "Were you able to locate some of the candy you wanted?"

Finn turned to look at her, boyishly dopy grin firmly in place. "Nah, I heard them tell another guy they were out a while ago but it's okay. _Swedish Fish_ are cool too and they always have them."

"That's wonderful, Finn," though Rachel imagined it was only because the candied fish were widely less popular. "I was wondering—"

"Can I…" he trailed off with another sheepish look on his face as he did so. "Sorry but I just remembered I should ask if you want anything… you know so I can buy it for you. It's almost our turn so… I just thought…"

His cheeks were coloured with blotchy patches of pink and Rachel found it entirely too endearing not to smile. She was slowly shaking her head seconds later, looking up into his (still hazy) brown eyes.

"That's quite alright, Finn," the first sounds of a patented rebuff had his shoulders hunching over as he looked to the ground, hardly able to hide his disappointment. "I appreciate the offer though. It was exceedingly thoughtful, which is why I believe we'll make great friends."

Rachel got the impression chivalry wasn't something he 'remembered' to do extremely often, so it made her feel guilty for having to crush his spirit after such an effort. He was still a really nice guy, however misguided (and unwanted) his crush on her may be.

Finn frowned before his face lit up just as quickly as it had dimmed. "Yeah and friends sit beside each other, right?"

"They do, yes," Rachel agreed with a slight nod, "but—"

"Sorry, man," Noah suddenly materialized right next to her. Rachel was thankful, even if his appearance ruined her plans to interrogate Finn for information. "The princess is already sitting with me."

"No, she's sitting with me, dude!" yelled Finn, his face getting redder, his body tensing as his hands clenched into giant fists at his side.

Rachel realized that his sheer size made Finn an intimidating sight when angered—almost reminiscent of an all-American Lou Ferrigno—and it was highly unnerving. Still, Noah's light brown eyes soon caught Rachel's attention.

"The candy girl totally digs the Puckster and let me cut. I got you these, Berry," he tossed a box of _Red Hots_ her way (that she just barely managed to catch) before holding up his own bag of _Sour Patch Kids_, "and these little babies are all mine."

Rachel sighed at the hurt look on Finn's face—exactly the reaction Noah was hoping for—and Finn's frustration just continued to mount the more Noah waved the bag of sour candy around. Their incessant rivalry was entirely pointless and Rachel certainly wasn't getting involved.

"While I'm highly flattered, I already promised to view the show with Mike," she explained truthfully with a slight shrug of her shoulders, "and since I enjoy an aisle seat perhaps you both could reside together instead."

Both boys glared at each other—though Rachel assumed Noah was being intentionally difficult to further annoy Finn—and then the larger boy jostled himself forward. Noah pushed him back and Rachel rolled her eyes, refocusing when a listless voice broke through the haze of idiocy.

"What can I get you?"

Finn had finally made it to the front of the line, the skinny redheaded boy looking at them expectantly though his freckles and thick glasses could attest to that. Only Finn seemed like he'd forgotten entirely where he was, while Noah busied himself with winking at the pretty blonde girl heading up the line beside them.

Sighing, Rachel stepped forward. "Could we please purchase a bag of Swedish Fish and Finn is that all?"

"Yeah," the boy nodded while (again) grinning dopily. "Thanks, Rach."

Puck scoffed at the display while Rachel tried to remember just when Finn started calling her that. Said boy had just finished paying for his candy when Mr. Schuester appeared at his side.

"Hey, guys, we're all meeting up to get ready to go in together," the teacher smiled, his eyes brightening when they landed on his (newly appointed) favourite student.

Surely, Mr. Schuester was aware of how inappropriate such a thing was.

Finn smiled, before shifting awkwardly under his teachers gaze. "Cool, Mr. Schue. You can't watch something without snacks, you know?"

Rachel could feel Noah holding in laughter beside her when Finn held his chosen candy up for inspection.

Mr. Schuester's eyes flittered over the package before he nodded. "That's great, Finn, now we're expecting more ideas like this from you. I'm not letting you off the hook. The group really looks up to you."

And apparently propriety was the last thing on their instructor's mind because there was more shoulder grabbing as Mr. Schuester led Finn away. Noah snorted and Rachel absently linked their arms as the two followed.

"Man," Noah took this moment to actually whistle, Rachel looked at him incredulously as he grinned. "Schue is hard up for Hudson."

Rachel rolled her eyes but ultimately couldn't disagree, though Finn's marvelous idea was going to end rather horribly. At this point New Directions were widely out matched (by Vocal Adrenaline) in every category, most notably performance and theatricality. This upcoming show would only be to the detriment of their already borderline abysmal confidence.

Still, they took their seats. Noah had separated from her to sit next to Sam and Finn squeezed into the seat next to Mr. Schue. Mike looked over at her with a nervous smile and Rachel imagined he wanted to converse about Tina again because—according to Noah—he made some major headway at the party. It was why she so easily agreed when he'd stopped her after she'd exited the bus.

The lights dimmed.

_Ohio…Ohio…Ohio_

_A_nd the perfectly pitched vocals were…wrong.

When the song picked up—and the stage lighting commenced—Rachel's eyes cast around the audience, finally stopping on a figure hidden in the shadows to the side of the stage.

She rolled her eyes and then glanced at her fellow glee clubbers. Rachel almost giggled at the gloom and doom on their faces, since Rachel Berry always enjoyed the sweet taste of vindication. Anything synonymous to winning was a proven aphrodisiac to all that strive for superstardom.

Unfortunately, Rachel was as much compassionate as she was arrogant and she ultimately succumbed to that feeling of guilt begrudgingly. At least Noah was fairing well but then he'd been afforded the opportunity to view Vocal Adrenaline numerous times, as was she.

And still the Carmel choir didn't let up, performing a slue of extraordinarily perfect songs before weaning down for an intermission. Rachel briefly squeezed Mike's hand before slipping into the rambunctious crowd, stealthily making her way to the side of the stage where the figure still stood in the shadows.

"Jesse. St James," she exclaimed, the loudness of her voice making the boy jump. "What did you do?"

He spun around—equally as animated—his brown curls jostling around his face, looking every bit the boy she'd first met at her very first theatre camp in San Diego. Deep dark leather jacket, grayish brown eyes and that smirk that was so widely infuriating, he called it his signature look.

"Rachel Berry, as I live and breathe. Looking as..." he took in her chosen ensemble, his forehead furrowing in confusion. Rachel found it hugely endearing until, "May I ask why your sweater is embroidered by a goat?"

She huffed, her arms crossing as she glared him deceased at least two times over. "It's a carousel horse, Jesse St. James."

"Of course it is," he laughed, though Rachel could feel the condescension for miles.

She could see by the black v-neck tee—peaking through from beneath that heinous leather—and the suspenders unhooked and swaying at his sides that he'd been prepared to perform. Maybe that was why he was so grumpy. Nevertheless, Rachel wasn't about to let such a thing dissuade her.

"Now must I repeat myself?" Rachel sighed, exasperated, her gaze equally as expectant. "The entire performance has been structured to exclude you. Clearly, you've done something to warrant it."

"Well if you insist," he conceded, rolling his eyes as if he was merely humouring her. "I've found that it's quite hard to reach the pinnacle of excellence that is required for University of Los Angeles when teachers don't understand the impracticality of bringing textbooks to Modern Jazz."

Rachel just stared at him whilst considering what the boy had just admitted to because sadly she was able to fill in the rest. Rachel imagined he had approached one of the more scholarly clubs; bribery was most definitely involved.

Vocal Adrenaline had stepped back onto the stage. The cheering was deafening as the musical track for _Mercy_ began to play.

She smiled—Noah would pass it as a borderline smirk—before shaking her head. "Shelby must've been furious, though I have to say you are most deserving of it. You do know that any esteemed post secondary establishment requires ten times the work required of a student in high school?"

Jesse's eyes widened, before he stood up straight, show face firmly in place. "Yes, I deserve to be banished from the stage until I've managed to complete all the work I had the math club complete on my behalf."

Rachel rolled her eyes and spun around, blinding smile adorning her face. "Mom, it's wonderful to see you."

Her mother grinned fondly at her while Jesse huffed at her side, upset that his attempts to get back in Shelby's good graces were so entirely transparent. It amused Rachel greatly.

"I saw you earlier with Noah and a really tall boy," Shelby said, gesturing out into the crowd where—embarrassingly—Finn's head was present above all the rest. "You didn't tell me you were coming to visit."

Rachel sighed. "My Glee club instructor thought it would be prudent to scope out the competition, though I'm sure he's now come to see I was right in suggesting otherwise."

Jesse smirked, Rachel rolled her eyes at his preening beside her, as it was just like him to reap the credit for a Vocal Adrenaline performance, even one he was currently absent from.

Thunderous applause boomed overhead, the show had come to a close. She glanced at her mother; the proud shine to her eyes was unmistakable as she looked out at the kids on the stage.

Her relationship with Shelby was highly unconventional, especially after she'd learned her mother had taken Jesse in. Rachel tried not to feel pity for him—as she was aware the boy highly detested it—but losing both his parents at the cusp of his adolescence was undoubtedly something to feel sorry for.

It hadn't been terribly awkward to see her theatre camp duet partner answering her mother's door; it was more Shelby herself that had given Rachel room to pause in the beginning. She supposed it was an adjustment for both of them to restore reality amongst an abundance of unfulfilled dreams.

Besides theatrical prowess and a big stage voice, Rachel found their commonalities ended there if gold stars and their physical likeness weren't taken into account. She was raised by her fathers—and her character showed as much—but Shelby had offered her so much. As a child of two gay dads, a female perspective was most crucial for an allotted list of things.

Rachel would know; she did compile one to win her mother over after all.

Jesse looked to be pouting, the sight had Rachel giggling, almost seamlessly pulling her away from her thoughts. It was not all that surprising when others were basking in applause. Her inner star could relate; it was why it was widely successful at being a distraction.

"Well perhaps you'll be available for dinner then?" Shelby smiled again and Rachel mirrored it with one of her own, once she noticed the woman's attention. "I'm sure I can clear it with your instructor if need be."

Rachel frowned, shaking her head sadly. "Unfortunately, I've already promised my presence to a friend elsewhere. Maybe we could reschedule?"

"Nonsense, Rachel Berry. I'll never forgive you if you don't come," Jesse huffed but his eyes were pleading, Rachel didn't understand why until she caught Shelby rolling her eyes.

Rachel shook her head. "You're being punished with forced confinement, aren't you?"

"It's all right, Rachel," Shelby glared at the boy and Jesse scoffed before looking away. "Of course, we can reschedule."

Rachel's smiled. "Excellent, I…"

Her phone started vibrating in her front pocket and—while she knew it would be rudely inappropriate to answer it—she couldn't help but hope it was Quinn.

She quickly fumbled with it, her smile brightening when she read the words.

_Berry, I'm not that easy. Pick something else, not that it will matter anyway._

"You're rejecting me for a girl? This is completely unacceptable!" Jesse's voice was high and affronted, entirely normal behaviour unfortunately.

It pulled Rachel's attention back to him though, her cheeks a little dusty and pink. He looked to be pouting again while Shelby looked on amused.

Her dark eyes land on Rachel finally, just as she said, "You're welcome to bring them, we'll go out to eat. I'm sure Jesse will be thrilled to get out of the house for a while."

The offer was undoubtedly tempting, as the two hours and busy schedules forever between them didn't give her much opportunity to see either of the people in front of her.

But she wasn't going on a date and neither of them could know.

Sighing, Rachel shook her head. "While the offer is generous, I'd like to make a good first impression without ambushing them with my mother. I hope you understand."

Rachel knew Jesse wouldn't—or at the very least pretend not to—so she focused her gaze on Shelby, staring into brown eyes that were so alike.

"Of course, Rachel," the woman laughed, shaking her head. "I didn't expect you to agree, it was just fun to tease Jesse a bit."

Rachel nodded, smiling fondly at her mother. "Yes, it is undoubtedly the only way to keep him honest."

"I resent that!"

Jesse's protest went unheard as Vocal Adrenaline rushed by them to the backstage.

Rachel sighed, it was time to go.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: **_It seems like most want Jesse to stick around, so I'm going to try to figure something out to make that happen in the future. The doctors appointment is next, I promise._

_Also a thank-you to all those that continue to review. It really is a pleasure to read all your thoughts on this fic. Since I kind of only write what I'd want to read myself, it is nice to get other opinions lol._

_Oh and there are a couple lines (literally three or four sentences, I think) of Puck and his new love interest getting it on, so look out for that just because I think it is only fair to put a warning before hand._

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

**Forty-One**

Puck was mutilating fruit on his phone while the rest of Nude Erections stood in the lobby looking ready to puke at any moment. They should've listened to his Jewbro and it would've all been cool.

"Hey," Puck really hoped Hudson wasn't about to try the leader thing again. Fuck, he chopped one of those damn bombs by accident. "Where's Rach?"

Finn was checking out every brunette in the crowd with this stupid look on his face—that Puck felt like punching—and Schue kind of looked really sick standing beside him. That guy seriously wanted to be balls deep in Hudson's ass.

Puck shook his head. "She's obviously not here, dude."

"I didn't ask you," Finn glared, already tomato-face mad. "I'm going to look for her."

When Finn stomped away through the mob of adrenaline junkies hoping for an autograph after the show, Puck laughed.

Way too easy, he thought.

Rachel was still with Shelby—and probably fancy boy since he didn't get to prance across the stage earlier—and Puck was kind of hungry so they could cry about being losers without him. There had to be a vending machine around there somewhere. Carmel was way bigger than McKinley though.

Puck remembered when he first saw this place. Everything was shiny and clean, nothing like the dump he was enrolled in. It had been hell finding Shelby's office; he was like a rat in a Goddamn maze.

Rachel's dads had told him where to find her. It wasn't easy but they finally agreed (with him) that Rachel deserved to know. She definitely wanted to know; being forced to watch a PowerPoint after every major holiday—about how her mother could be some chick on Broadway—made that kind of obvious. His Jewbro was just too scared to ask her dads about it.

But, Puck sure wasn't.

And last year (on Mother's Day) he'd asked.

Puck had just needed to make sure this Shelby woman was good enough for his best friend first. She'd been super scary, hot as fuck and totally down with meeting Rachel real fast. Puck should've known a MILF like that would screw it all up.

Rachel was pissed at first. For weeks she didn't talk to him because he went to her dads. Maybe she was right, it really wasn't any of his business but he knew she needed to know where she came from. Everybody needed to know, even when you had an old man like his.

She finally called him though and they went to Shelby's house together. Fancy was there and man that guy had a punchable face. They'd waited together—while Rachel and Shelby talked in the backyard—and Puck didn't think Fancy liked him that much either.

Puck shook his head, where were those damn vending machines? Sighing, he looked around; he had to be getting a little warmer.

Only his eyes landed on that majorly hot chick in Vocal Adrenaline. Holy…look at that fine ass. He needed to follow it.

The way it bounced, jiggling just enough to have something to hold on to. Was this the perfect—

"I must request you stop following me immediately," the girl whirled around; her brown eyes were dark and cold like ice. "If not, I'll be forced to defend myself with a rather large amount of pepper spray."

Puck threw up his hands. "Easy, babe, just a fan of your work. I'm Puck."

Chocolaty pools looked him up and down, slender hands clenched perfect hipbones—hidden by that really blue costume dress—in reaction to what they saw.

"I'm sorry to say I'm not giving out any autographs," she shrugged but her eyes never left him because she was totally hot for the Puckster, even if she didn't give him her name. "My after performance ritual is too important to miss."

He smirked because she really made him think of Rachel. His Jewbro, well, she was bangin' but some lines are drawn in the sand too far away from the tide for a reason. This usually would've had him droopy in no time but he was having no problems giving her the one gun salute.

This girl must have come with special sauce or something because Puck always had a soft spot for sauce. The messier the better, it was his great downfall and yet extra sauce was never something he could regret. Even when the fun of eating it's over and all that was left was a really big mess.

Puck slid closer; it was a smooth move to make sure she heard his voice being all low and sexy. "I'm not interested in one unless its wet spots on my sheets."

"Excuse me?" she screeched before punching him with a shot to his chest. "Not only is that completely revolting and crass, it's also undermining my rights as a woman. We're not honey pots for you to just dip your wick into whenever you…are you even listening to me?"

No, because it was his eyes' turn to track her body. All those curves, that sleek dancer muscle and her wild brown curls he could definitely see his fingers tangled through.

Puck blinked. "Yeah, totally babe."

Her claws dug in as she yanked him into a classroom and quickly slammed him hard into the closed door.

Her lips were on his and man this was awesome. Not many girls liked to kiss really rough 'cause it wasn't romantic enough but this girl, God she had his cock practically weeping in his pants. Puck wastes no time getting his hands on that ass and he all too happy to let her feel up his junk until he's not.

The sound of his zipper being undone, it has him moving away. It hurts like hell but he manages to get everything zipped back up. Man is he an asshole, trying to get with a chick hours before his baby mama's doctors appointment.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked and Puck wasn't sure if she was mad or being girlie by thinking he didn't want her.

He shrugged. "I can't do this. Sorry, babe."

"Can't or won't?" she said while she was doing that thing with her lips that girls did when they were mad but she really didn't look mad at all, which was good.

Puck hated dealing with those clingy girls that just turned on the water works the moment he tried to leave. Man, they were the worst. Mastering the perfect escape from the evil needy clutches of girls was a must know in his life. It was just much safer to be standing many feet away when he broke the news that he wasn't making them breakfast.

But, she didn't seem like that to him, so he'd answer her question.

"Both," Puck was sure that this time those words meant the same thing because he sure felt like they did. "I already screwed up too much by doing shit like this."

He'd already messed up enough that Rachel needed to 'find herself' and Quinn, Puck knew she shouldn't have to deal with any of this at all.

Sighing, he pushed off the door just as she said, "I would've thought that doing activities like this would be quite fun."

"Yeah," he sighed with a shake of his head, "it's fun until the girl gets knocked up."

This chick was just rolling in special sauce and she wanted him bad, well not anymore. Talking pregnancy was like a glass of icy water to the box.

"Well, that certainly ruined the mood," she cocked her head to the side, as she stepped away from him. "Being pregnant is most definitely not in my life plan until I've at least reached the triple platinum record plateau."

Puck wasn't sure what Quinn wanted to do. Just to get out of Lima, she'd said that before. He thought she could still do that, Puck knew she was really smart and stuff.

Still…

"I think she wanted to be prom queen," he said instead because everyone knew Quinn wanted that.

She hadn't just told him like she had about leaving Lima. It seemed wrong to say it somehow because of that.

"Of course that would be most difficult and I would know," the girl agreed, looking like she was thinking until she just smiled. "I've been successful two years running now."

Puck smirked. "That's hot."

"Yes, well, I'm kind of confused as to why I find your bruiting damaged look appealing but…." She whipped out a sharpie in the blink of an eye and quickly wrote her number on his arm before looking up at him. "Call me."

Puck watched her go, staring at his arm with his mouth hanging open wide. She wanted him? Wait, she wanted him. Straightening up, he smirked proudly as he sauntered out of the room.

And of course, there were the vending machines with _Camry_ and her pal whispering in front of it. His Jewbro was there too, talking to Mike with Hudson obviously looming like a stalker in the distance.

Sighing, Puck made his way over, glancing down at his arm and reading over the letters of her name.

Andrea.

It was totally hot, just like her.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: **_Again, thanks to all those that continue to review and _**FeelingGrey**_, who really helped me out with this chapter. Also, __all this Quinntana is making my heart hurt :(_

_Enjoy._

* * *

**Forty-Two**

A girl.

Chen M.D. kept whirling that wand around her belly to get just the perfect snapshot and gobs of gel were probably staining her uniform. The thing slipped lower on her stomach, giving the black and white picture more definition.

Somebody gasped, probably Rachel.

"Hey, watch the uniform," Quinn called out, gritting her teeth slightly as she finally tore her eyes away from the screen to see the goopy mess that was practically splattered all over.

He looked over at her with this aggravating grin. "Of course, I think we're just about finished anyway."

Chen M.D. pushed a box of Kleenex at her while he absently fiddled around with the buttons on the ultrasound.

"Great," Quinn muttered, frowning slightly as she started swiping away the goo on her stomach.

He whirled around, his tiny stool rolling with him across the faux wood floor her mother wouldn't even think about buying. Only the very best trees were chopped down to provide the Fabray household with flooring.

Quinn watched him scribble down something in her file—the chicken scratch was barely legible—before he quickly snapped it shut. "Excellent, I'll just go get you a few pictures, the video and the prescription we spoke of earlier during your exam—"

"Dr. Chen, if I may accompany you?" Rachel had been blissfully silent since the ultrasound machine had been wheeled in but it seemed that was over now. "I have a few more questions to ask that I feel are of the upmost importance for Quinn's overall care."

Chen M.D. looked petrified—with his eyes just about primed to tumble out of their sockets in a quest for suicide—and he was probably mere seconds away from strangling himself with his own stethoscope.

Quinn stifled a giggle as he stuttered, "Unfortunately, I can't allow it, Miss Berry. This office is very strict about these things."

Rachel huffed, her arms already crossed as she petulantly pouted in her chair. "I suppose it is possible to wait then."

Chen M.D. looked poised for a mad dash escape but he just kept staring at Quinn instead. The blonde managed to count to five in her head before he started to annoy her.

"What?" she growled, Quinn could already feel her whole body stiffening under his gaze. "Can you just go get the pictures so we can leave?"

"Sure," he slapped his thighs and she bristled as the move had him rolling a tiny bit closer, "but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask you of your plans after you've given birth. We have a wide variety of pamphlets here, if you're interested in—"

"Adoption," Quinn didn't dare look anywhere but at the hands fiddling with the ends of her Cheerio skirt. "If you could get me something about that?"

She didn't want her baby (girl) to end up living in a crack house or anything.

The chair rolled some more; Quinn guessed he was (finally) on his way out.

"I'll be right back," he said needlessly because she could already hear his careful steps out the door before he closed it.

A tan hand came into view, resting over top of her anxious fingers. It drew Quinn's gaze up right into those (lying) brown eyes.

Rachel.

The brunette opened her mouth—obviously at the ready with a mouthful of overly complicated words of support—when a loud bang had both of them jumping, cutting off whatever was about happen at the knees. Puck had yanked the exam room door open—the force causing it to angrily smash into the wall—before he stormed out.

Quinn sighed.

She glanced at Rachel while the girl was busy gnawing (pretty hard) on her bottom lip. Her eyes just continued to stare at the empty doorway, Quinn thought she was most likely wishing for Puck to come back.

The blonde looked away. "Aren't you chasing after him, Berry? I'm not stopping you."

Quinn frowned when Rachel started to giggle. The brunette had her tiny hand up in front of her mouth, obviously failing at stuffing all that (annoying) laughter back in. It was practically bouncing off the damn walls.

Rachel's eyes were almost shining though; Quinn found herself—begrudgingly—liking that a whole lot.

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that, Quinn," she suddenly felt that hand back against her own, as Rachel just went on humouring her, "but I fear you wouldn't be able to stop me even if you tried."

Hazel eyes narrowed, she supposed the same tactics—that worked so great on her mentally challenged ex-boyfriend—would never be enough to outsmart Rachel. This thing between them, Quinn still wasn't sure how to get control of it. These blatant challenges, she honestly couldn't afford to take on another one when she was nowhere close winning the first. Dismantling Finn's self-esteem was so much easier than dealing with Rachel Berry.

Chen M.D. then decided to make his way back into the room. Predictably, Rachel snatched the pamphlets from his hand before Quinn was passed what was left. The photos were glossy to the touch, smooth against her fingertips…her baby was a girl. She had wanted one more than the other.

Shaking her head, Quinn realized Chen M.D. was talking to her. "This prescription is good for two weeks. If you have any more problems—"

She surged up to rip the slip of paper from his hands, her cheeks felt like they were doused in flames. Thank God, Berry had excused herself from the exam; she heard the prescription crumple in her fist.

"Okay, thanks," Quinn quickly said, her eyes falling shut as her voice (pathetically) wavered. "We're going to go."

She felt like she was speed walking out of the room, Rachel was obviously hot on her tail.

"Quinn—"

"Not right now, Berry."

Her burning gaze continued to glare until the tiny Diva's mouth fell shut and Quinn was actually really happy with the show of submission, if only for her own peace of mind. She wasn't dumb enough to think this was Rachel (finally) staring to fall in line.

Quinn sighed

She didn't mean to be mean to Rachel—not this time anyway—it was just Quinn really liked kissing her. She needed to be desirable and asking a middle aged Chinese man to prescribe her baby-safe laxatives was already embarrassing enough, especially when he assured her it was perfectly normal with that same aggravating grin.

"Stupid Chen M.D." she grumbled as she watched Rachel pay for her appointment and pocket the receipt.

It was a small miracle there was a pharmacy in the same building—though her prescription would take some time to fill—and Rachel still wasn't talking so Quinn decided to walk all the way to the bench in this really sad garden beside the parking lot. If it hadn't of been fall, Quinn was sure one of the tiny flower beds would be filled with carnations or wilted tulips.

Rachel sat down next to her. Quinn could hear her rustling those pamphlets that were basically a how-to guide to tossing Puck's spawn to the curb. Hazel eyes fell shut, Quinn could feel her teeth digging deep into her lip.

"Do you ever want kids, Berry?"

Quinn blinked, surprised by the question she hadn't ever expected to ask. Her gaze flittered down to her stomach, why was it so much different the second Chen M.D. decided it was a girl? She didn't feel so angry anymore.

"I'm not quite sure, Quinn," Rachel shifted slightly, breathing deeply before exhaling the gulp of air down towards the pebbled rocks beneath their feet. "I've not put a lot of thought into it to be honest, though I'd imagine I'd consider it in the future if my partner so requested it. After gracing the stage with my extraordinary talent of course but I gather it is something you've thought of, present circumstances withstanding?"

Quinn laughed, ruefully shaking her head. "No, I just always knew I'd have them. It was expected of me but if I'm being honest I don't really know if I want any, though I guess that decision has been made for me."

"Yes, I suppose it has," Rachel agreed while reaching out slowly for her hand, squeezing it softly with a sad smile.

The brunette went back to reading those pamphlets and Quinn realized she might slightly (really) like this. She supposed it was easier without Puck looming behind them whining about his mom hiding his _Nintendo_. God, she can't believe she ever convinced herself that sleeping with him was a good idea.

Rachel was still consumed by those pamphlets, Quinn shook her head "Why didn't you leave with Puck, Berry?"

The girl's head snapped up and her eyes widened, maybe she didn't think Quinn would ask? Still, Rachel was quickly shaking her head and Quinn suddenly felt like she was being mocked somehow.

"I believe this is something he needs to figure out on his own, though I'm sure he's going to do something invariably stupid anyway," Rachel almost seemed resigned with another dramatic sigh before her lips quirked up to grin. "Also, I would've thought that it was quite apparent by now that I wanted to stay with you, Quinn."

Rachel was suddenly a beaming beckon for any extraterrestrial life voyaging through space and Quinn might've (briefly) thought she was beautiful. She also really wanted to kiss her.

"The prescription is probably filled," Quinn muttered, as she vaulted awkwardly to her feet.

The blonde internally groaned.

But, Rachel just nodded and was quick to follow her lead. They were walking side-by-side and when had Quinn started to find silence with Rachel uncomfortable? She gritted her teeth before yanking the brunette to a stop.

Rachel's gaze fluttered down to Quinn's hand on her wrist before meeting hers expectantly. "Is there something wrong, Quinn?"

Their eyes seemed inches away from each other—even though she was sure Rachel was keeping a respectable public distance as she'd promised—and Quinn's were stuck staring, being lulled into never wanting to move away.

"No," she grumbled.

Stupid Rachel.


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: **_It is probably kind of apparent by now but I'm only really a fan of season one, which I sometimes don't include the back nine in depending on the day. I'm not sure when the writer's imagined Quinn got pregnant but for the purposes of this story, it was very early on in the summer before sophomore year which makes her due date somewhere in February or March. __That makes sense right? LOL_

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

**Forty-Three**

Rachel's bottom lip was pinched between her teeth, as she glanced at the time shining up at her from her phone. She was expected to arrive to her last class of the day in mere minutes if she wanted to avoid being late.

It was uncharacteristic for her to be as behind as she currently was but her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of their first official Glee meeting—since that disaster of a field trip—after school.

To be quite honest, Rachel wholly blamed Mr. Schuester. Her daddy always told her she could never trust a man with curly hair, though Rachel was quite sure he was more (or less) overreacting after he found out about her and Jesse's shared kiss at theatre camp.

Still, Mr. Schuester and Jesse did share an odd kinship forged in hair. Deep dark curly locks—that Sue Sylvester swore were the breeding ground of depravity for elves and woodland creatures alike—just so impeccably styled with excessive amounts of gel. It would certainly explain her choir director's inept job performance thus far. According to Jesse such a hairstyle took hours to perfect and maintain.

Rachel shook her head. It was entirely possible that choosing not to retrieve coffee during her free period—in favour of practicing her vocals in the auditorium—had sent her psyche spiraling. She supposed it was a small miracle she hadn't yet reached the level of exhaustion that would see her waxing wistful poetic prose about Mr. Schuester's teaching deficiencies.

No, Rachel just sounded functionally insane.

Sighing, she hastily quickened her pace, shuffling down the crimson stripe of tile—that stained the otherwise startling white floor—before slipping into her classroom, the bell sounding over her head just as she took her seat.

Noah was already asleep in the desk beside hers; Rachel fondly rolled her eyes before kicking him awake.

"Whaa?" Noah's head bounced off the desk, his gaze haphazardly darting around the room, only to land directly on her. "What the hell, Berry?"

She giggled, watching as he tried rubbing his eyes fully awake but only managed to make them watery and red.

"I'm not allowing you any rest if I'm not afforded the same luxury, Noah," she explained, crossing her arms, her stare continuing to dare him to disagree.

He didn't, which wasn't at all surprising.

Not when he'd gone missing from the vicinity of the doctor's office—and after being driven home by Quinn—Rachel had been tasked with locating him. He was consuming a vast amount of beer at the lake (puddle) beside the gun range; sadly it had been only the second place she'd looked.

Normally, Rachel would've considered leaving him to his own devices but his attendance was mandatory to fulfill the last performance owed to that irresponsible bar owner in Columbus. Though they were now hired as a standing weekend musical act—for a slightly elevated fee that Rachel had painstakingly negotiated—so she decided her trouble was considerably worth it.

"Fine," he grumbled, just as Mr. Schuester strode into the classroom.

Honestly, the man was even late for Spanish; Rachel rolled her eyes at his clear lack of professionalism. It was unfortunate that the risk assessment—on her plans to reset his watch—was just too unfavourably lopsided to continue any further.

He predictably clapped his hands. "Hola, class."

Rachel heard Santana sneer disdainfully from somewhere behind her. When the Latina started mocking him—for his broken and almost always incorrectly pronounced Spanish when instructing them on the in-class assignment—Rachel realized the girl was right behind her.

Mr. Schuester turned his back to the class to scribble page numbers (to look to for reference) across the blackboard. Mercedes used such a blind spot to slip Kurt a note, something Rachel couldn't help but observing because they were seated directly to her left.

She was quite positive they were in cahoots about something pertaining to Glee. Admittedly, Rachel hadn't been as involved in the club as she would've liked. It had managed to slip down her list of priorities quite drastically, considering she was—at one time—deeming it the subsistence for her very survival.

Nonetheless, Kurt and Mercedes' collective egos and underachieving work ethic would see them fail. Rachel was almost certain of such a thing and normally that would've been enough for her to forcefully take charge. Actually, it was most likely Rachel wouldn't have even allowed them the opportunity to create such a need because she would've been leading them to victory from the very beginning.

Sighing, Rachel yanked her arm away from Noah, who had been busy annoyingly poking it with the butt end of her own pencil. The sudden movement had him smirking triumphantly.

"Finally," he groaned and—true to form—the boy tossed her pencil back into her pencil case as if were blazing hot in temperature. "You're kinda creepy when you're tired, 'cause you don't talk."

Brown eyes rolled before quickly ignoring him in favour of the right side of the classroom. Sam and Quinn were seated together—seemingly working on some type of work sheet—though the blond boy's face was abnormally red and deathly serious.

Rachel sighed, she hoped he wasn't attempting to enthrall Quinn with his Christian Bale impersonation. After all, Rachel had suffered such a similar fate the first time she and Sam had been formally introduced.

"Can I help you?" growled Rachel, effectively stalling the (recently re-retrieved) pencil in mid-air.

The sound of it tumbling to her desk was highly satisfying until Noah was looking behind him, glancing back at her with another infuriating smirk.

"So…" His eyebrows wiggled up and down in that exaggerated way that always had her contemplating violence. "Lady troubles?"

Rachel glanced over at Quinn once more and the situation seemed quite amicable between the blondes. Quinn smiling at another one of Sam's celebrity impersonations drew Rachel's attention back to Noah.

She shook her head. "No, not at all. Why do you ask?"

Noah looked momentarily shocked; Rachel hoped they could begin work on Mr. Schuester's elementary school fill in the blank—though she did hear Brittany ask Santana if her previously drawn sombrero was correct—but unfortunately, he started smirking again.

"Come on, babe," Noah nudged her with his elbow this time. "He's not that funny."

Admittedly, Sam comedic ability simmered somewhere closer to a whimper than provoking gut busting laughter, so Rachel supposed Noah's opinion—on surface—was essentially true. Except, she was quite well versed in the ways of Noah Puckerman, at times too much unfortunately.

Rachel's eyes narrowed.

"Noah, your problems with…" Her gaze flittered over, spotting Kurt and Mercedes just a table away, "her are both of yours to solve and I'd appreciate if you'd attempt to omit them when speaking about her in my presence."

He leaned back on his chair and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what you mean, babe."

But he did, considering Noah hadn't tried to bring up the subject of the pending choice for adoption once since that afternoon. Still, Rachel nodded before absently starting to fill in their assignment sheet for class participation marks. Something this simple couldn't be graded for anything but.

On the last question, she looked up. "You can always speak to me about it if you so choose, Noah. I'd actually probably better understand such a thing more than anybody, I just mean that—"

"I get it, Rachel," he sighed; the use of her name practically sealed it but she smiled when he nodded too.

Rachel found her eyes being drawn back to Quinn, Sam was still entertaining her with his endless supply of celebrity impersonations. The scene, however, wasn't all that bothersome, well, she supposed in some respects.

She was frankly somewhat resentful of Sam for holding Quinn's attentions in a place where the tiny brunette could not but (if anything) the angry whispering to her left seemed far more incensed by the scene than Rachel was. Noah must've noticed too because he snorted distastefully beside her.

She had always found Mercedes somewhat obnoxious. After all, a Diva—at her core—embodied the epitome of class. She just made sure those around her appreciated her worth, something Rachel personally felt was measured greatly by work ethic and performance. Two things, Mercedes significantly lacked in her opinion.

Shaking her head, Rachel packed up the very moment the bell rang. Her locker was in a completely opposite direction from Noah's—making their social status' glaringly obvious—so they ventured in different directions once reaching the hall.

Rachel turned the corner into the music hall and stopped in front of one locker out of the many. Each and every time she silently wished those dreadfully beige lockers were coloured by a shade slightly more reminiscent of her artistic talents, possibly marigold yellow, though Principal Figgins didn't seem very fond of the paint swatches she'd dropped off last month.

Rachel quickly exchanged her books—procuring the few she needed to complete her homework—and ventured on to Glee. She found herself drawn to the empty seat next to Mike. The boy looked up from his phone and gave her his usual understated smile. She beamed right back at him until she noticed his smile slip slowly off his face. Her gaze followed his to the choir room door, just as Tina wheeled Artie in passed the threshold.

Rachel was reminded of their conversation after they were finally able to find a moment alone during the field trip. She thought it was quite a sweet gesture that he wanted to sing a song for Tina. The girl's Facebook status was still single, so Rachel was only happy to help. She reached out to touch his arm briefly before pulling away.

The tiny brunette have to compile a proper list of appropriate songs immediately, so she knew where it was imperative to improve his vocal abilities the most. She'd—unfortunately—have to nix Barbra from the top of her quick mental list before she continued. It was an innate reaction to place her on the top of any deliberation of song choice, yes even an assembled list for Michael Chang.

Except Finn appeared to believe he was stranded on an island with a rescue plane in his sights, if his flailing limbs were anything to go by. It was highly distracting—and also quite (tragically) clear—he was actively trying to catch her eye. Rachel's gaze immediately attempted to avoid the highly awkward situation altogether by staring most conveniently in a contradictory direction.

That was when Mercedes loudly called for their attention. Once she had it, her and Kurt stood up. The boy waved his hand through the air and Rachel was already freely expecting the very worst.

"After the travesty that was our field trip to Carmel," he said, his tone so oddly lofty and forlorn, "I think we can all agree we're completely out of our league."

Murmurs of agreement were heard all around, Rachel preened at the (rather late but more than acceptable) sounds of vindication surrounding her. She would've thanked them for such an acknowledgement but calling attention to her mid-performance disappearance was not something Rachel had any interest in doing. She'd have to forgo her usual need for impeccable manners, regardless of how difficult.

Mercedes was nodding, left hip jutted out and her hand on top of it. "Which is why me and my man Kurt did a little research and now we know why they're so good."

"They're exceptional vocals and unrivalled theatricality?" offered Rachel with a small wistful sigh.

Singing with Shelby, by Barbra it was a dream come true. She supposed it was only natural that she'd find a melodious equal in her own mother, though Jesse did come a close second. Oh how she loathed admitting it.

"No," Kurt shook his head; Rachel imagined her mother would quite like a recording of this, "Dakota Stanley. Hiring him is a must if we want to compete."

Brown eyes widened, it was far worse than she could've ever imagined. Jesse had only been all too happy to horrify her with tales of that deranged choreographer. He expected perfection—and while Rachel could certainly respect such a demand—their Glee Club was too motley to even stumble close. He'd shatter what was left of their spirits for good.

"But…but wha…what about, Mr. Schue?" Tina stuttered and Rachel beamed at the girl for seeing sense. "His…his dancing is…isn't that b…b…bad."

Rachel was all too quickly nodding—kicking Noah awake (once again) so he'd be able to offer her some semi-balance of support as well—before she said, "His dancing does leave little to be desired but this idea is clearly just an over reaction to feeling inadequate. I assure you that it will come to pass—"

"We suck. Just deal with it, Rachel."

The tiny brunette scoffed at Mercedes' interruption, rolling her eyes at even the mere suggestion that her talent was not highly spectacular.

"Speak for yourself," she mumbled, huffing as she crossed her arms in protest.

Noah nudged her and she shook his arm off, glaring at him for his silence. He just shrugged and went back to ignoring the ridiculousness being talked about around them.

Kurt sighed. "Look, once he sees improvement he'll have to agree and until then we won't tell him."

"We can't do that to him," Finn yelled, he actually jumped up—teetering awkwardly—before stumbling to the front to shadow both Kurt and Mercedes. "Guys take that stuff really seriously and he really likes Glee, you know?"

Rachel rolled her eyes—certain that Mr. Schuester enjoyed resurrecting his glory years more than the actual Glee Club—but she supposed Finn was right. Hearing that the majority of the club was at the ready to outsource half of his duties would surely sting.

"Ah well," Sam glanced down at Noah and Rachel's eyes narrowed at the scene as the blond boy mumbled on, "maybe we can just meet this Dakota guy and start from there?"

"Wonderful idea, Sam," Kurt gazed fondly in Sam's direction and Sam just looked entirely confused. "We'll put it to a vote. All in favour?" One-by-one arms were hoisted up into the air. "All against?"

Things seemed particularly dire when Rachel's arm was the only one left standing, besides Finn's of course. She made sure to glare at Noah again for his betrayal.

"Hey guys," Mr. Schuester strode his way into the room, late with his usual horrible timing. "Sorry I'm late but I got us a few new members."

Quinn, Santana and Brittany were suddenly standing next to him and Rachel could feel those hazel eyes on her.

She couldn't help but want to kiss Quinn senseless.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: **_I stayed up super late finishing this so I could post it today, so hopefully it's at least readable. Also thanks for all the lovely reviews. They really do make my day._

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

**Forty-Four**

Damn, his 'hawk was always itchy if he didn't use Rachel's special girlie shampoo. Yeah, Puck was man enough to admit that he loved smelling like a giant birthday cake. It was way better than stinking like that horse cum his mom buys at the Stop-n-Go.

He itched again.

Dude, it felt like bugs were attacking his mind.

Which was totally not his fault so Ferrari and Fancy (number two) could glare at someone else. Yeah, maybe the guy that jacks off a pony for shampoo. That was way worse than being itchy.

Puck tried to scare them by staring back—because they were really starting to piss him off—and that's when he realized they didn't care about him at all.

It was Sam and Puck's (almost) baby mama laughing and doing whatever it was Barbie dolls do that had Elton mad and his girl foaming at the mouth like a sudsy car. It had been like this since the Cheerios invaded last week. Gay and Tots would blow everybody's house down and then Santana and Quinn would make them look like idiots by being big time bitches.

It was so damn hot.

Anyway, Sam said him and Quinn were friends now through God…or church, which was the same thing because isn't that where He liked to hang out? Puck had asked to make sure his Jewbro wasn't going to get her heart smashed in. Quinn had already done it to him and it definitely wasn't fun.

He wasn't in love with her or anything but he did care a little bit. Yeah, so maybe Puck thought that (with how everything was going) she'd maybe think about him—without wanting to digest his head—and maybe not take his damn kid away.

Fuck, he wanted to punch something.

Wait, when had—Kurt and Mercedes, man it was like Rachel was screaming in his ear—fine, Kurt and Mercedes skipped up to the front?

They were talking but Puck didn't care, except the part about crashing fancy boy's practice tomorrow. Which was good, Puck liked their quick turn around. Bribing Sam with one of his old comic books—to agree with these windbags about hiring that guy—was finally paying off.

He couldn't call Andrea back—because he was trying to be better and all—but if he was dragged there by two idiots his hands were clean. Yup, perfect plan, though Sam thinking God would lightning bolt him for lying might've tipped Rachel off a little bit.

Maybe.

"Guys, we can't do this," yelled Finn, Puck (and Santana) snickering when his voice cracked.

Everyone else waited for a chair to topple to its doom and there it was with Hudson stomping towards the door like a two-year-old girl, knocking Schue over on his way out.

The man stopped—looking out after his undercover lover with shining eyes—before turning towards them. "What happened to, Finn?"

Santana snorted. "Finnpotent just hit puberty and I have to say it's about damn time."

"Oh dear," Puck almost fell to the floor when the man looked on the verge of tears. "Maybe I should check on him."

"I think that's best, Mr. Schue," Kurt was way too quick to agree with whatever Schue said. "Mercedes and I will lead practice until you return."

It was way too obvious that they wanted him gone but Schue must've been too distracted by Finn's giant ass to care. Yeah, and Schue actually ran from the room. That's embarrassing.

"My Barbra," he heard Rachel mumble beside him.

Puck nudged her side and she pushed him off with a roll of her eyes. This attitude definitely wasn't there before the Cheerios had landed, well, maybe a little bit. He did have a lot of pretzels and free smoothie coupons in his locker for a reason.

"Yeah, I ain't waiting around for Hudson to start neighing like a mare with a bull up its ass," Santana stood up and flounced her way down the steps to the floor. "Me and B are out. Later bitches."

He saw Rachel shake her head but her smile definitely meant she thought what Santana said was funny, since it kind of was. Everybody was leaving, Quinn looked scary pissed though. Her glare (at Santana) was seconds away from melting his man parts.

Spooky.

He cleared his throat. "Babe, you need a ride home? I got the six pack earlier for your dads in the truck—"

"Noah, I told you not to procure any alcoholic beverages," Rachel looked like a tiny tornado of glares and hair with lots of arm waving too. "In fact, I even suggested a nice bunt cake or… what may I ask is so humourous?"

Puck smirked. "You said bunt cake."

And there she went rolling her eyes but come on, what idiot would name a cake after a bunt? Well, he didn't know what a bunt was but he was totally sure it would still be funny if he did.

"Yes, hazard the thought," Rachel sighed, as she slowly pulled her pink bag over her shoulder, "and no, I will not be requiring a ride. I have a few errands I need to run before hand."

That was weird.

Usually for these types of things, she'd ride with him to make sure he showed up wearing a shirt with sleeves and without any beer. Not that she really needed too, Hiram had the same demon eyes that Rachel did when he was really mad.

But whatever, dinner with his Jewbro's dads was always awesome since they lived on takeout and not microwave dinners. Endless spaghetti night at Breadstix was sadly a highlight when living in this shit town and man was he hungry.

Rachel left before he could remember to ask her why she was ditching him. Oh well, he'd get her drinking after her dads went to sleep—and figure it out then— because he had plans. Well, sort of.

Only Wheels and Goth chick were left in the choir room, so Puck hightailed it out of there to the parking lot. Ah his truck, it even started on the second try.

He changed his shirt at the first red light. It was a little crumpled up from when he threw it in the back seat—after the last dinner the Berrys asked him to come to—but they were always happy to see him.

He pulled into the Berry driveway and barely touched the first step on the porch when the big red door was thrown open.

"Noah, how are you?" asked Hiram while Leroy was busy yanking Puck inside and slapping him on the back.

Ow, that shit was going to bruise. Puck sighed in relief when Rachel's daddy finally stepped away.

"Good, Mr. B," he offered with a shrug because what else could he say really?

The truth, well, it was kind of a mood killer and he was still really hungry. Besides, he couldn't tell them, not when his mom still wasn't over the party thing yet.

The two men rolled their eyes, just like Rachel. Damn Berrys, their attitude was always in sync. At least Leroy looked happy with the lie; Hiram was just staring at him. He'd probably heard about Puck's weekend in jail and was still undecided.

"Wonderful," Leroy clapped his hands together, not as girlie as Schue but more like he was trying to move everything along, "and once our daughter gets here we can finally eat."

Hiram gave Puck this weird glance. "Yes, where is our Rachel?"

Yeah, good question. Things were kind of scary when his Jewbro wasn't there to demand everyone's attention. They got along, yeah, but guys didn't talk about much when there was a sports package on to watch on Sundays.

Well, more Leroy. Hiram was like a mini-Rachel clone or was it the other way around like the chicken eggs?

Man, Puck really just wanted his damn spaghetti.

"Don't really know," he shrugged but Hiram was staring at him definitely waiting for more.

Puck scratched the back of his head.

Stupid shampoo.

The front door opened and Rachel came in with this moony look on her face. Was she serious? She put him through this for a quickie with Fabray? Fuck, he was taking all her damn shampoo home with him.

"Sweetheart, you're home."

He wasn't sure who yelled it before the two men practically swallowed her in hugs. There was squealing, an icky amount of tears and this weird moment of them all together jumping in the air.

When they finally let her breathe, Rachel said, "Yes, I had to procure the perfect ice cream to accompany the apple pie I baked last night for such an occasion."

She did have the ice cream in her hand, so maybe Puck was wrong. Fuck it, he was taking that damn shampoo anyway. His head was freakin' itchy as hell.

Rachel smiled at him and finally they were moving into the kitchen where he could see the takeout waiting on the counter. It only took a few minutes to dish out with the four of them carrying everything to the table.

Puck busied himself with his spaghetti. When things got going, he never really had to say much, which was good because he wasn't much of a small talker. He liked that the Berrys didn't really care. They never made Puck feel like he had to impress them or anything.

Everything was great until Rachel said she was going to get the pie. It was like some signal to her dads that shit was getting real or something. Hiram cleared his throat and put down his fork.

"You both know we've been quite preoccupied the last few months with setting up an expansion office in Chicago," he said and Puck didn't like where this was going because man he wasn't getting pie anytime soon.

But he did remember something kind of similar being said at one of the dinners some time back and Rachel was nodding to answer for them both. "Of course, Dad. We just conversed about the more leisurely aspects of your trip but I gather it is going well?"

"Yes, sweetie, it's been great, ahead of schedule actually," Leroy was really proud of himself, it was easy to tell when the guy seemed like he was ten feet tall all of the sudden. "We might actually see our names on the door at this rate."

Puck's eyes widened because that was definitely good, though his Jewbro was kind of late on her usual high pitched squeals. He nudged her a bit but she didn't tell him off at all; she just kept moving the leftover pasta around on her plate.

He was quick to kick her foot under the table and she was back with them—glaring at him but that was okay—before her eyes were on Leroy. "That's wonderful, Daddy. I'm thrilled for both of you."

"Yes," the two men shared another weird look before Hiram continued, "the expansion should be complete by the month's end actually but unfortunately that means we'll be required in Chicago once again."

Rachel's eyes were on both of them like she was trying to read their minds. "Will it be just a weekend or a more extensive period of time?"

"Three weeks, sweetie," Leroy sighed; he seemed really sorry for it.

Maybe his Jewbro really did have a sixth sense, though she looked kind of sad like it's happened before. Come to think of it, her dads were going places a lot lately and now they were all looking at him.

"We've talked to your mother, Noah. She actually suggested you move in here with Rachel until we return," Hiram explained, though his eyes were busy creepily staring into his soul like a (demon) Rachel. "We both don't like that she'll be here for so long all alone."

"Of course, this is only if you're both comfortable—"

"It's fine, Daddy," Rachel waved her hand like she was brushing this thing off like it was nothing. "I'd hate for you and Dad to miss out on such an opportunity because you are worried about me and I'm sure Noah holds no objections…"

Puck quickly nodded his head because it was cool. He also kind of owed Rachel big and he knew she'd never want to take this away from her dads. Besides, Puck had stayed over before, though not so much since her whole 'finding herself' speech.

This would be okay though, totally good.

It wasn't until he was sitting beside Rachel—in her dads' strange sunroom deck after they went to bed—that he realized how fucked up this was. Or maybe that was the beer mixing with spaghetti, he didn't know. Rachel was staring out into her backyard with a beer can in her lap and she had that stupid moony look again.

Puck groaned. "We're kind of shacking up together and you're dreaming about Quinn?"

"No…I…" she stuttered—because he totally scared her—before sighing. "I don't believe my thoughts are relevant in the slightest, Noah. Being domesticated isn't at all—"

"Woah, babe, I ain't domesticated," he interrupted because that was like a shot to the junk. "The Puckster is born to be wild, baby."

So maybe his Jewbro was a little touchy on the Quinn subject. That made sense. Fabray seemed to just bring it out in people because Puck didn't much like talking about her either.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yes I'm sure you'd like to think so but if you have a problem with the current arrangement I can always inform my fathers that I've changed my mind."

His beer was almost gone, so he'd just have to steal some of Rachel's because she never drank all of her six-pack. Puck slammed his palm into his forehead trying to think and it was sort of working.

"No," he finally said, shaking his head. "It's just kind of weird."

Rachel tilted her head to the side—sipping her beer in a way that he thought was totally hot—before she shrugged. "I suppose it is."

Man, it sucked having a girl so fine for a best friend and his forehead hurt.

"This has been going on a while, hasn't it?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Rachel bit her lip, looking down at her (third) can of beer before giving him a tiny nod. He felt angry, there as this stabbing in his stomach and his can crumpled in his hand.

"Yes," she sighed, looking up when he let the can fall to the ground, "but never more than a weekend until my decision to form a relationship with Shelby."

Puck frowned because they seemed all for it when he asked them, well sort of. It wasn't a short thing, he had to talk them into it but he was sure it was just them being scared for Rachel. He didn't mean to…

"Rach I—"

"I don't require you to try so hard, Noah," Rachel laughed, shaking her head slightly as she leaned over to put her can on the tower she was making with the cans he didn't crush. "As I said, it was my decision and I suggest putting your efforts into the song of apology I quite clearly remember you promising."

Damn, he was hoping she'd forget about that.

"Whatever, I'll get to it," he groaned, though (honestly) he kind of wanted to do it if he didn't have to follow the list she gave him of songs she wanted to hear. She was really good at making lists like the one she made (and read) for Shelby to get her to finally give her a chance. "Was being adopted hard?"

Rachel shook her head. "No, I wouldn't say that. There were always questions, of course, but contrary to these current circumstances, my fathers were always there when I needed them."

His kid deserved that too, Puck knew that. It was just hard when he wasn't even given a chance. He'd be there for his little girl; he could do that.

"So you think adoption is a good idea then?" he asked, though Puck wondered why.

He knew what her answer was going to be. It was kind of obvious when he waited for her outside the doctor's office until he realized she wasn't coming. That's when he went to drink at the gun range after those assholes wouldn't let him in.

"In most cases, yes, I feel it is beneficial," Rachel said softly, Puck drank the rest of his beer and crushed another can. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No."

Puck didn't want to talk about it at all.


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: **_Thank you so much to all those that continue to review. You are wonderful. Enjoy :)_

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**Forty-Five**

Her baby really wanted watermelon Jolly Ranchers so Quinn yanked Rachel onto her favourite (always empty) auditorium balcony. She then went about attacking her lips, instantly tasting the bubblegum lip-gloss and that candy she wanted.

Quinn felt hot all over.

Joining Glee was definitely one of her better decisions—and lately that was saying something—because now it was acceptable to do this everyday. Rachel started it—when after that first Glee practice she'd pulled Quinn into the bathroom and kissed her senseless—and now Quinn intended on taking full advantage of it. Just like yesterday before the girl gave her some line about needing to buy ice cream.

Except, Rachel decided she just had to speak, pulling away just enough so she could be heard, lips brushing against Quinn's with every word. "I might be mistaken but I believe you have Cheerio practice—"

And that was when Quinn decided she was tired of waiting and hauled Rachel back to her mouth. The brunette mumbled reproachfully against the blonde's lips but it didn't stop Rachel from kissing her back, so Quinn didn't mind.

The feeling made her toes curl and her eyes slip shut. Finally getting what she wanted had Quinn's body trembling in her anticipation's wake. She planned to avoid thinking about what that meant later.

Quinn felt Rachel's hands tugging the fabric of her uniform and (very briefly) Quinn really wanted them to be grabbing at her instead. Those tiny (not very manly) hands running along her body, caressing and palming her—

She quickly stepped back, (slightly) smiling when Rachel's lips tried to follow hers. When the girl came up empty brown eyes fluttered opened, just so full of questions that would've then tumbled out of Rachel's mouth if Quinn hadn't beat her to it.

"I do have Cheerio practice," her lips felt swollen—probably for the rest of the day—but where did Rachel learn to kiss like that? Growling, she shook her head. "Bye, Berry."

Quinn was taking careful steps to the door, when she heard some shuffling and the very loud sounds of an exasperated Rachel Berry.

"Quinn," the brunette called out to which the blonde instantly came to a stop, her lips already quirking up expecting another wordy rant about the importance of using given names. "Just…at the risk of sounding needlessly redundant, I would hope I wouldn't have to ask you to be careful."

Quinn frowned. "Sure, whatever, Berry."

She didn't give Rachel the chance to say anything else and quickly left the girl behind. Coach Sylvester would be way more maniacal if Quinn were late and she couldn't handle one of that woman's insane punishments today. Sure the constant state of nausea was almost (finally) gone—and Quinn managed to make it through the day without napping through her free period like she was decrepit enough for an old age home—but the baby still managed to somehow suck any (and all) her endurance dry.

Thankfully, people still voluntarily jumped out of her way and she didn't have to resort to running down the hall.

Quinn made it to the locker room and on to the field just after Santana and Brittany. She would've been first but with the way the Latina was fixing her ponytail as she walked, those two hadn't left the field since they'd arrived (two periods ago) for gym class.

Quinn grimaced in disgust as she eyed the bleachers. Having to resort to sex underneath them—while the Skanks were all suspended—was just so completely desperate. Maybe Rachel was telling the truth when she said Santana was only just her friend.

Shaking her head, Quinn started to stretch. Santana glared at her and Brittany waved. Usually the blonde would come talk to her but when Quinn and Santana were fighting, Brittany always sided with Santana. Quinn was just left alone until Santana finally got over herself.

Except this time, the power would definitely go to Santana's head—and it'd be a long time before Quinn would get either of them back—but maybe Rachel was enough. Quinn felt like she could be every time the tiny Diva was around.

Quinn bit her lip—as she started stretching her left calf—and before long Coach Sylvester was marching her way onto the field blow horn poised to start screaming.

She watched her take a breath and then the horn clicked on.

"After watching your routine last week, I went home and had Hemelda my middle aged slightly illegal housekeeper weep for me because my tear ducts had long ago shriveled up and died just like Will Schuester's big dreams of not being a below average overly effeminate Spanish teacher in a town _Google Maps_ lists in parenthesis."

Quinn was good at tuning her out after that because the very fact she was up there ranting meant the routine was flawless. Coach Sylvester would yell for half the practice—usually about her experiences during Vietnam or her stint in an ambiguously located prison—and then they'd run the routine again.

To be honest, Quinn wasn't a fan of it necessarily. Being captain, she was always given a prominent role because she was the best until this one. This routine was for Nationals and it was obvious people didn't want to worry about Katie Miller as she flailed through the air with horrible technique or look into Santana's demon eyes when she was held up at the end of a stunt. Yet, Quinn was relegated to the ground in favour of them both.

She should've been happy of course. This made her plans to fake an injury (and reluctantly bow out) in a few weeks—so when things finally came out she'd have a National title to fall back on—a whole lot easier.

Quinn just maybe wanted her departure to be a much more crippling loss.

God, she was being more dramatic than Rachel.

And suddenly girls were shuffling around her and the horn clicked off. Music came on and her body seemed to just go. The song replayed ten times before Coach Sylvester was satisfied enough to start yelling again.

"You sicken me," the woman shook her head with her usual face of absolute disgust. "Q, my office, five minutes and ladies if I hear the water turn on and the sound of my repulsion circling down the drain, I'll have to ask you to go longer without ridding your body of failure's stench."

Quinn frowned at the sound of her name and then Coach Sylvester was stalking off in the opposite direction. Sighing, the blonde followed after her.

She knew this couldn't be at all good. At the very least, Quinn would have to spend hours listening to the woman rant and rave about the family of robins nesting in Schuester's hair. Unsurprisingly, that particular topic was one of her favourite ones.

The jock hall was always a sea of red, white and black with Sue Sylvester's office looming ominously at the very end. Quinn suspected the woman set it up that way to psychologically torture her visitors with a death march toward her inner sanctum. Quinn tried to blink away that feeling as best she could.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out and knocked on the door. The foreign language being screamed inside came to an immediate halt before picking up again and then Quinn was called in.

"Ah, Q," the woman said leaning back in her chair, elbows on the desk while her fingertips pressed together in an—ironic—pyramid just in front of her chest. "You're just in time."

Quinn sat, crossing her legs in the most uncomfortable chair known to man. "There was something you wanted Coach Sylvester?"

"Glad you asked, Q," the woman leaned back until the back of her chair made a loud sound as a warning to stop. "You see, if my time in Guantanamo taught me one thing it was how to fasten a truly impressive weapon out of my comb and left over toothpaste, which is why my agreement with that conspicuously Jewish Warwick Davis can go on no longer."

Quinn's mouth opened and closed before settling on a frown because there couldn't possibly be any logic decipherable in that. Unless, no, Coach Sylvester couldn't mean…

"Rachel?" Quinn blurted out and the woman waved her off like it was nothing.

"Oh, I wasn't aware that the crooning pixie nymph had name," Coach Sylvester then pounded her hand against her desk and Quinn just barely managed not to jump. "Maybe that's why I still haven't been able to capture it for my Cheerios with any of the bite-sized cucumber sandwiches I've laid out as bait in that large room with all the seats."

Quinn blinked. "The auditorium?"

"If that's where its tiny kind goes to pray," the woman shrugged, reaching into her desk and pulling out one of her (many) portable blenders, "but I'm going to have to ask you to turn in the uniform, Q, before you balloon to the size of an obese Christian."

Hazel eyes widened because—_no, no, no_—this couldn't be happening. She knew, Coach Sylvester knew, Quinn was going to lose everything and it was all because of Rachel.

Her eyes started to sting. "I think you should reconsider—"

"No can do, Q. You know the judges still dock points for a stillbirth." The blender turned on, buzzing loud. "Now get out of my office before your fetus stains my floors."

Quinn swallowed, searching for something snarky to say but ultimately left without a word. Rachel, she…

Gritting her teeth, Quinn's feet pounded into the floor with every step until she was inside her car. She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles were white, her anger mounting deep inside.

Berry was going down.

Pulling to a stop outside of the girl's house, Quinn flexed her fingers as her eyes tracked her target from the street. Of course Puck was there and they were lifting bags out of the back of his truck. Duffle bags, just black with pockets and zippers; they were nothing at all extraordinary. The custom generic shoulder-strap accompanied by the handles—that always seemed to be the first thing to suffer from wear and tear—didn't serve to distinguish them anymore than the non-descript discount department store the bags were bought at.

But they were carrying them into the house—Rachel's house.

Quinn was slamming her car door and stalking up the driveway with all her scary very much intact. She came to a stop when Rachel stepped out of the house with a welcomed lack of Puck.

The smile on the brunette's face fell instantly—probably because of the glare Quinn was giving her—but the blonde just grabbed Rachel and pulled her to the side of the house.

Rachel frowned. "Quinn, I wasn't expecting you—"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Berry?" she growled, watching brown eyes (annoying) widen in surprise.

"I'm not sure I know—"

"Oh you know, Berry," Quinn took a step forward and Rachel's back hit against the side of the house. "You just had to butt your big nose in, didn't you?"

Rachel had this hurt look on her face with her bottom lip slightly quivering. Quinn knows she feels guilty—her stomach starts to churn—and that makes her even angrier.

"I…" Rachel softly said while looking down, just being so irritating and refusing to meet Quinn's eyes. "While I initially thought this was about Noah's moving in it's clearly not so I'm unfortunately at a loss—"

"Do lie to me, Rachel. Tell me why couldn't you leave it alone?"

Quinn preferred to ignore everything else, as her body shook. Puck sleeping near Rachel, being in the same house as her constantly, them doing—

"You called me, Rachel," the girl whispered and those brown (lying) eyes were shining, glistening with such an awed glow.

Quinn gritted her teeth as her heart began to race. "Yeah, well, now that you got me kicked off the Cheerios because you try too hard to make up for everybody hating you, it doesn't matter anymore."

And then Quinn walked away.

Her usual careful steps were so messed up she could probably pass herself off as a drunken sailor, tripping over her own feet and swaying as she attempted to stay upright.

"Quinn wait," she heard Rachel's frantic voice, felt her grab her wrist and gently pull her to a stop. "I haven't the faintest clue what you mean. I haven't so much as spoken to Coach Sylvester since my freshman year when she asked me if my kind were able to procreate."

It was like water dousing the raging flames sizzling her stomach lining well done and Quinn took a breath. Brown eyes were staring pleadingly into hers—and the blonde could feel herself falling somewhere wonderful—but…

She quickly yanked her arm away, glaring until she was sure Rachel wouldn't try grabbing it again.

"Get your manhands off me and leave me the hell alone, Berry," she screamed, her feet were carrying her to the car.

"Quinn," Rachel sounded desperate.

The blonde didn't look back

Quinn slammed her car door, wrenched her keys into the ignition. The car came to life but hazel eyes flittered back up to the lawn where Puck was now cradling Rachel to his chest.

She pressed on the gas and took off down the street.

Her eyes were burning through the entire trip and she had no idea how she made it safely into her driveway. God, how had she been so stupid? Quinn had let those damn eyes convince her and now she had nothing left.

She'd be a pariah at school, her parents were weeks away from kicking her out and…and even Berry was gone.

Damn it, Rachel was supposed to be enough.

Screaming, Quinn hit her steering wheel with the palm of her hand. What was she supposed to do now?

There was a knock at her window and of course Finn's gigantic head was there waiting for attention. Quinn sighed, wishing she could make all seventy-three pounds of it disappear with her mind.

He started yelling but she was only able to catch every other word until she opened the car door as she stomped around destroying small villages and mobile homes.

"…and you cheated on me with some guy? How could you do that to me? You wouldn't even let me under the bra and now you're a slut—"

His head felt like a boulder, as she left a bright red handprint on his cheek. "Call me that again and I'll aim lower next time."

Finn looked scared and then (of course) he started to whine. "Why did you do that?"

He rubbed at his face—not at all caring her hand was throbbing—and then he got that gassy look again. The lights were on in the living room, her parents were home and Finn's whining carried blocks just like the sounds of a sad puppy.

"Yes," she whispered, as she watched him try his best (and fail) to locate his brain.

He frowned. "But we never..."

The mumbled words had Quinn's eyes narrowing. He was an idiot but his stupidity had just given her exactly what she needed to get something back.

"Remember fourth of July?" It just rolled off the tip of her tongue.

She watched his eyes go cloudy—as he struggled to remember the night he'd erupted in her parent's hot tub—before he was nodding like a jackass.

"But—"

"Sperm travels faster in hot water, Finn," she interrupted and his mouth closed while he tried his hand at thinking again.

Hazel eyes fell shut—_God, please make him be stupid enough to believe her_—and she threw herself into his arms.

"Please, I can't do this alone," Quinn found herself mumbling into his chest.

She knew she'd given him enough that Finn would agree to anything she wanted but Quinn still couldn't stop the (real) tears as they started to fall.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: **_Ugh, this chapter was probably the hardest one I've had to write. Originally, I had it almost completed way back when I posted Chapter 45 and then life got busy with the holidays and work. By the time I had time to finish it, I hated everything I wrote and scraped the majority of it. I honestly still don't like the finished product but I suppose it says everything it needs to say for the fic to continue as it should. _

_Anyway, thanks to those that continue to review and hang around for an update even though my life demands they be few and far between. To those of you that are worried about the direction this story is taking, I'm always open to ideas, discussion or just answering any questions you may have. Just try to remember these are two teenage girls falling in love for the first time. They (especially Quinn) are going to make mistakes, I know I certainly did lol. Oh and the eye contact Sue refers to (since it was way back) is in chapter 16 for those of you that like to have a reference._

_Enjoy :)_

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**Forty-Six**

Rachel scooted down the McKinley hall, spinning on her heels—the white chord of her head phones twisting and turning along with her—as she tapped the sides of her thighs to the beat of her usual Friday morning playlist. She quite enjoyed the school while it was empty, especially when she was able to dance through the halls entirely undeterred.

Noah always had football practice before school on Fridays; it now being even earlier thanks to his new mandatory training sessions with Coach Bieste. Rachel would usually use the time to practice in the auditorium—since that frivolous neighbourhood petition still banned her from belting out any notes above High C—but (lately) her presence was required elsewhere first.

Coming to a stop, she tucked her iPhone into her front pocket and placed the bag she was holding gently on the floor. The music picked up and Rachel was humming along with the chorus as she fiddled with the locker in front of her.

And with little delay, the—unattractively painted—door popped open.

The Cheerio pennant and the (almost expected) pictures—of Quinn, Santana and Brittany in the midst of Cheerio camp—were still tacked up as decoration. Rachel's fingertips briefly skimmed over the Quinn captured in film before reaching down to grab the bag at her feet, placing it inside with a barely audible sigh.

Quinn may have requested she leave her alone but Rachel was unable to do so completely. Bringing Quinn breakfast was part of her daily routine, something that Rachel refused to just rearrange on a whim. It was a delicate balance and any deft tinkering could surely eradicate the comings and goings of her entire day.

And more so, Rachel Berry had a tendency to worry.

This would hopefully alleviate that, if only the tiniest bit until she could make Quinn see reason.

Sighing, Rachel reached out to fix the picture—her fingers had previously jostled—only frowning when the melodic warning of an incoming text message interrupted her playlist.

_Rachel Berry, your presence is required at a party tonight, call it a celebration of my early release. The warden expects you to arrive by six. Apparently dinner is a requirement for parole. _

She rolled her eyes and then decided it would be nice to mingle with people far removed from worrying about her crush's illicit pregnancy that was fathered by her best friend. The hurt of Quinn's rejection—that she was still painstakingly trying to disregard—would slip away too.

Hopefully.

Besides, Rachel would already be in the area—since Kurt and Mercedes had the Glee Club driving to Carmel to meet with Dakota Stanley after class today—so the unfortunate parts of Jesse's personality were well worth commiserating in. Smiling, she quickly unlocked her phone to confirm her attendance immediately.

"Extraterrestrial, I've got you now."

Rachel's fingers slipped across the screen in surprise—inadvertently adding many more unneeded letters to her RSVP in a desperate attempt to impede her phone's fall—as the screams from that infamous blow horn continued to bellow through the halls. The tiny brunette just managed to grip her phone with two hands before looking up at the track-suited woman standing before her.

"Mrs. Sylvester," Rachel straightened up, ripping the headphones from her ears when the woman's crazy eyes looked ready to burn them at the stake. "I can...I can assume your morning is going well?"

The blow horn was clicked off and tossed precariously to the side. Rachel's eyes widened when a Cheerio appeared seemingly out of nowhere to catch it just in time before scurrying off down the hall in almost one simultaneous motion.

"You're the perfect size for my canon. You'd soar through the sky just like a tiny station wagon and I'd be victorious once more," the cheer coach seemed almost reverent—at the thought of Rachel being sacrificed in lieu of a trophy—and then her face was quickly returned to its usual murderous state, "but the school board tells me even immigrants need to sign a waiver to authorize their deaths."

Rachel frowned. "I…I'm sorry where do you believe I'm from exactly?"

Coach Sylvester didn't seem all that concerned with answering her though, evidently finding Quinn's—still open—locker much more interesting. Rachel (stupidly) huffed in annoyance and (dear Barbra) those crazy eyes were suddenly back piercing her soul with a vengeance.

"I could smell Q's fertilized eggs a mile away," Brown eyes widened, as the woman freely yelled those words down the hall, though she supposed Coach Sylvester had already made such a secret public knowledge anyway. "She'd come on to my field and the putrid stench of procreation would linger. Without my mid-afternoon placenta shake, I was like a ravenous lion poised to kill but I couldn't have her birthing her calf in the uniform, so I just let her roll down the pyramid to the shadows that hide the girls with ugly faces and broad shoulders."

Rachel had thought the woman had only been privy to Quinn's pregnancy a few moments before ousting her from the team. It certainly seemed that way from what little Quinn had shared yesterday while wrongly accusing her of being the cause.

"You want her on the Cheerios?" Rachel frowned when she couldn't successfully determine Coach Sylvester's motivations, as the woman remained (impressively) devoid of emotion. "If I'm not mistaken, wasn't it you that facilitated telling everybody she was pregnant in the first place?"

Mrs. Sylvester actually scoffed. "Your nose couldn't grow any larger, Tinkerbell."

The jab still gave Rachel no clue on where to begin, just that the woman was wholly familiar with two of the most famous Disney tales, something the tiny brunette was sure she confused on purpose.

Rachel sighed. "I'm quite sure that doesn't make—"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Barbra because Sue Sylvester is as honorable as she is ruthless. I was unfortunate enough to come across your muddy irises, while looking to confiscate a lighter to smoke out the rats burrowing themselves in the plague infested locks Schuester calls hair, and I could already see Q had managed to allure you with her ripened uterus as well."

"I'm not sure I understand," Rachel chanced eye contact, her confusion making such an act seem quite wise. "Our eyes happened to meet momentarily in the hallway and you continued to allow Quinn to be a Cheerio on my behalf? I'm quite sure such a deed, while incredibly kind, would—"

"A lady after my own heart, eating your young," the tiny brunette grew more nervous the more contemplative Coach Sylvester appeared to get, jumping when the woman slammed Quinn's locker closed in a seemingly innate reaction to frustration. "My traps were useless against such hunger."

Rachel (rightfully) stood frozen in a bewildered sense of fear, as she anxiously babbled, "I…I assure you my tastes in food do not involve even the remotest taste of placenta. In fact, I'm a vegan so that inherently eliminates such an item from my dietary likes and dislikes."

"Where is my blow horn?" the woman barked out to nobody in particular.

That same Cheerio appeared at her side, panting slightly with the requested item in hand. Coach Sylvester grabbed it before stomping down the hall, kicking over the janitor's mop bucket—and several garbage cans—as she went.

With some pause, Rachel started wondering in the direction of her own locker. The hallway hustle and bustle had picked up but experience had her bobbing and weaving with correct timing even in her absent state.

Ever since she'd spotted Coach Sylvester watching her approach a plate of cucumber sandwiches—conspicuously placed on the piano in the auditorium—while clutching a rope and a burlap sack, Rachel had made a point to avoid the woman at all costs. It was why she'd been so completely blindsided by Quinn's accusation but surely Sue Sylvester hadn't offered her blessing in the midst of all her usual madness?

Shaking her head, Rachel attempted to put her conversation with Mrs. Sylvester behind her. She'd exchanged her books and shut her locker, just as the bell rang overhead.

Picking up the pace, she unfortunately had to chance the shorter distance to class the jock hall offered her if she wanted to be on time. It certainly wasn't wise— considering those giants liked to assemble in the halls like a sightless stampede of water buffalo—but she (and her tiny stature) would have to risk it. Though her slushie immunity made the trip slightly less terrifying.

Karofsky was waiting with his usual herd around the bend and thankfully it looked like they were the only one she'd be required to dodge. Taking a breath, Rachel forged her way into the crowd and—twirling away from an inadvertent elbow just in time—she'd barely made it out alive.

Rachel was just about to enter her classroom when she spotted Finn stumbling down the hall. Normally, such a thing wasn't at all note worthy—considering the boy was gigantic enough for her to question if he'd ever be able to grow into his limbs—but Quinn was walking beside him.

The blonde certainly wasn't anywhere near Finn's biggest fan but they'd disappeared into another hall before Rachel could contemplate the odd sight much further. Suffice to say, she wanted to remain footprint free.

The tiny Diva quickly slipped through the doorway and into her seat. Her previous (death defying) short cut had afforded her the time to review her homework before class officially begun, so Rachel was promptly flipping her binder open with little delay.

_Macbeth_ was certainly a peculiar tale, though Rachel quite enjoyed the deft hand in regards to the use of her favourite figure of speech. After all, metaphors were—

"Did you hear about Quinn?"

Rachel paused; she couldn't help but listen to nasally voice reaching her ears from somewhere behind her.

"That she took Finn back, I know," and then there was that usual airy sigh girls gave when faced with the tall quarterback. "He's totally dreamy—"

"She's totally preggers, Maddie. Where have you been?"

Rachel couldn't remember much after that. Her recollection of time was quite hazy; there was just an abundance of pain until class came to a close.

And dear Barbra, she was suddenly feeling rather faint.

She barreled through another herd of buffalo on her rush to the washroom but didn't much care as she slammed her way through the hard swinging doors. Rachel hurried towards the sink.

The cool water from the tap pelted her wrists, her brown eyes slipping shut to balance the new toppling weight in her chest because Rachel was emotional—so impatiently impulsive, daringly determined—just entirely theatrical. Her heart desired too much for her head to fully comprehend and though she was quite well adept at empathizing with other people's plight, Rachel almost always had no understanding of it at all. She didn't encounter a lot of similar personalities in Lima, ones that breathed to perform and had marquee lights blinding their eyes.

People with such professional struggles Rachel could closely relate too—she could even proficiently handle dealing with the adversity of her jealous peers—but it must've been divine intervention that bestowed her the ability to fully realize Quinn Fabray. Which made this—at the very least—foreseeable, Rachel just believed she'd get a chance to change the blonde's mind before she'd get scared enough to seek out Finn. Because Quinn didn't believe she was capable of surviving her pregnancy alone and sometimes Rachel wished the blonde was able to view everything she was through Rachel's eyes, if only for a moment.

Her wrists were numb—her hands balled into fists—as her heart shook under the heavy strain. Rachel had blissfully avoided these thoughts before and now she was wholly unprepared for the awful realization. Maybe she'd been a place stopper for Quinn as well. Finn was certainly proof that the blonde was capable of such duplicity. She was certain—at the very least—their relationship was progressing at too rapidly a pace.

"Rachel…"

Said girl whirled around and there was Quinn, standing just inside the bathroom door looking beautifully demure in a baby doll dress. Despite its previous heaviness, Rachel's heart seemed to beat right out of her chest just in time to splatter her sleeves in an unattractive blood red.

She took a much-needed breath. "Quinn, I'd prefer not to converse at this moment in time. Perhaps we could—"

"I didn't know you'd…I thought…" the frustration that flashed in Quinn's eyes would've been endearing if Rachel wasn't attempting to ignore such a thing all together. "You left breakfast for me, even though…"

Quinn shyly trailed off because conversation was Rachel's forte. In most respects, it fell on her to continuously propel them forward from a lull such as this, though she supposed those responsibilities fell on her quite frequently when dealing with Quinn Fabray. So Rachel's silence was surely deafening and those hazel eyes were quite earnestly pleading.

Rachel sighed. "What is it you want, Quinn? Surely Finn is in the best position to handle whatever it is you sought me out for now."

"No…he…we're not together, Rachel," Quinn forced out, seemingly jumbling her words in her rush to explain. "He came and accused me of being pregnant after I got home from your house and my parents were home…I didn't want to make more of a scene than he already was. I told him the baby was his because I thought you hated me."

Her hypothesis on Quinn's reasoning seemed utterly similar, except when concerning Finn. Rachel gritted her teeth at the thought of the giant boy ambushing Quinn with no regard for the consequences that lay within hearing distance inside the blonde's home, though she was quite thrilled by their unattached status.

"How many times do I have to explain that I care about you Quinn?" she sighed, gazing up into hazel eyes, hoping desperately that the girl would finally see. "I certainly could never hate you, regardless of any misgivings on your part."

Quinn bit her lip. "I'm so sorry, Rachel. I…"

Rachel's heart continued to beat erratically, as she was quite prone to flock to the tragic look in Quinn's eyes like a moth to a flame. She supposed it was her deeply ingrained sense of theatricality, or just Quinn. It was certainly (mostly to her detriment) always Quinn.

But Quinn's treatment of her wasn't acceptable. Surely, it never had been but now she'd kissed her. It seemingly changed things drastically somehow and her eyes fluttered closed when faced with the harrowing truth. Exhaling, Rachel slowly looked up at Quinn and circumstances were certainly different now. The usual lust and genial concern was completely overthrown by the apologetically terrified blonde in front of her. Quinn was so (heartbreakingly) beautiful and Rachel's first inclination was to hold her.

Dear Barbra, she was so screwed.

"Well, I did appreciate you referring to me by my given name without such glaring anger," the babbling began the moment Rachel acknowledged how deeply Quinn was freely able to hurt her, "and I'd certainly never want to lose you as a friend—"

"We weren't friends, Rachel," the blonde interrupted and the truth had Rachel's bottom lip traitorously quivering.

Rachel immediately ordered it to stop. Thankfully the delay was only minimal and Quinn seemed none the wiser. The tiny brunette took another deep breath.

"Yes, I suppose not, which I believe is partly to blame for this rather unfortunate occurrence between us," no it certainly didn't help and Rachel couldn't chance it, not now, "so I'd prefer anything not appropriate within the realm of friendship be disbanded until further notice."

Quinn's eyes darkened, Rachel could see the blonde was not happy with such a request, which only happened to endear her to Rachel more.

It took her a moment but Quinn was finally able to grit out, "That's fine, I guess."

The bell rang.

"Wonderful," Rachel smiled more than thrilled at the chance to make her escape. "I'll see you after school for the trip to Carmel then, Quinn."

Her small stature afforded her the opportunity to squeeze through the small space between Quinn and the bathroom door. Once in the hall, her beaming grin slipped, disappearing entirely by the time she'd managed to reach her next class.


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: **_This chapter went a little differently than I had planned but hopefully it will clear a few things up from the last chapter. To me Sue Sylvester's rants should never be taken seriously, there is no use trying to understand them lol._

_Thanks to all those that continue to review. As always, it is appreciated :)_

* * *

**Forty-Seven**

Puck was really worried about his Jewbro. When he found her crying at the end of her driveway yesterday, he knew that was more than her usual chick crazy. Puck didn't know for sure what was up with her but he didn't believe her for a second when she blamed all the tears on allergies.

It was why he was trying to look for her. She had a free period and he, well he had a free period too when he decided to skip out on English. Sure that Juliet chick liked talking about her boobs a lot but he'd never want to kill himself anyway, so lesson learned. Besides, his mom was back on the night shift—now that he had everyday torture with Bieste—so he was totally in the clear.

Puck just passed by the vending machines when he saw an argyle-covered ass go through a door up ahead. Smirking, he walked over… to the Chemistry lab? That was kind of a weird place for his Jewbro to hang out.

Until Puck saw Santana was standing in there with her. The door was still open enough for him to hear too.

"Get on with it, midge. I don't gots all day."

Man, she was just as bitchy and mad as ever. Her arms were crossed and she was firing glares around with her laser beam eyes. Puck had no problem going in there to back her the fuck up, even if his 'hawk got singed clean off when she started breathing fire.

"May I ask what exactly you have to do?" He straightened up ready to go in because his Jewbro was really stupid to go at Santana with even more attitude. "You act like this is such an inconvenience but we both know it is far from that. I assure you this will only take—"

"Whatever, Berry, what do you want?"

His hand fell away from the door because Santana didn't looked pissed at all. He was sure she should've been. When they used to hook up, she'd threaten to bite his dick off if he even tried to talk about anything. But Rachel was smiling and the danger threat still simmered at a wimpy two point five. What the fuck?

"I've come to find that I'm in need of your advice because, as much as it pains me to admit, I'm wholly unprepared to tackle my current problem without it," Rachel said, she looked kind of mad about it too.

Santana smirked and leaned just a bit closer to Rachel looking hungry. Holy hell, there was a lot of movement down under after seeing that.

"What's in it for me?" her sweet and salty voice had him pretty much at half mass.

Rachel knew Santana wanted a piece of her fine ass, right? He knew Satan was Brittany thirsty and his Jewbro had major game with the ladies but—

"Surely offering ten minutes of your time pales in comparison to the laundry list of things I've done for you." Puck's eyes widened, she'd done stuff? Oh man, that was so hot. "You can deny it all you like but you know I speak the upmost truth."

"Please, Berry, we ain't…" Rachel leaned closer and said something he couldn't hear. Damn it why the hell did she have to learn how to whisper now? This was like all his dreams come true. When Rachel moved away, Santana looked kind of weird—like she wasn't even there—but then she was back to biting children's heads off with her eyes. "Fine, but I still wants something."

Rachel nodded and Puck was back to imagining them getting it on together. "Yes, I suppose quality advice is worth something in return, perhaps singing lessons free of charge. You do have a wonderful voice, Santana—"

"I wants to get my drink on, Berry and you putting Puckerman on a man leash means my source for free booze has gone to shit," his name had him adding himself between the two and making it three. Man this was so awesome… "so pucker up—"

"Absolutely not, Santana," Puck blinked at the extra loud Berry shriek. "As I explained before, my mild fascination with your kissing skills has passed me by. As for aiding in your alcohol consumption, such a thing is possible but I suppose it hinges on your advice first."

They totally hooked up! Damn, the big guy (in his pants) was totally rock hard, as he watched Lopez's lips move. "Lets hear it then, Dumbledwarf."

Rachel didn't look too happy about the name but she seemed over it pretty quick, as her tiny body straightened up for show time.

"I've recently became aware that I've entered into a deal of sorts with Coach Sylvester, despite the fact that us making momentary eye contact in a hallway is not at all indicative to an honourable agreement," Puck could see her eyes all dark and serious now, though Santana didn't look worried. "I attempted to gather answers this morning but my efforts were, well unsuccessful to say the least."

Lopez barked out one of her evil (but totally hot) cackles. "Let me guess, she spoke like you weren't even there?"

"Yes," his Jewbro looked really shocked and kind of relieved too, "how did you—"

"She wants something from you, Berry and you best come to terms with the fact that she's gonna get it, though she must be desperate if she used that as her reason," Santana shrugged and looked like she didn't care about the whole thing. "Now I gots to go before I gets the urge to fill your eyes with crazy glue. You best be finding me a booze hook up soon 'cause I gots razor blades all up in here."

Her hands flew around her head, Puck stepped back just in case there was an extra sharp jumper. Then bell rang and it was his queue to leave before they saw him. Both of them were really scary when they got pissed and Rachel seemed (weirdly) okay for now.

Puck winked at a passing Cheerio, smirking when she told him to call her with her hand. He wouldn't but he liked keeping his options open just in case but then jackass Hudson stumbled in his way.

"Hey, man, we're still bros, right?" he said it like all the times he'd macked on his Jewbro didn't matter at all.

Puck clenched his fists. "Naw, I don't think so, dude."

"But I'm with Quinn now," Finn scratched the back of his head like he was trying to remember something important someone told him," and I'm gonna tell Rachel we can't be together anymore 'cause it's the right thing to do, you know?"

Puck thought he looked like he had fleas but their mom's could've bought the same horse cum shampoo. Puck's head totally smelled like a birthday cake now that he moved in with his Jewbro though.

"I don't think you were together at all, man," Puck grumbled, shaking his head when Hudson actually looked confused.

"Well we were going to be, I know it," Puck really didn't think so because all the times Rachel ran away from him pretty much said it all, "but I'm gonna be a dad now and Quinn says—"

Puck pushed his giant ass into the lockers behind them. The bang had guys stopping in the hall to stare but he didn't care 'cause Hudson was just claiming his kid now? He should beat him down just like before but he couldn't do that. Not when his mom was actually talking to him again and Rachel was pretty close to ditching him altogether. He could damn well shove him though.

"Whatever, dude," Puck yelled, "just stay the hell out of my way."

He pushed through the crowd so he could leave and the bell rang to start lunch, except he wasn't hungry. This whole day was fuckin' bullshit. Those stupid rumours, they were probably almost all true, besides the baby daddy. Quinn didn't need Hudson anyway, Puck was paying her way and everything. He wasn't just going to sit there and let that dumbass take his kid but then he heard Rachel singing. Puck could hear a piano too and then it stopped.

He pushed the auditorium door open and she was on the stage with Mike. Rachel kept pushing the same piano key then she started singing again. Puck was sure they were running scales because she made him do them before they became friends.

Her voice followed him, as he walked down the aisle until he saw Quinn watching too. She was in the back so maybe Rachel didn't even know she was there. Quinn had her arms wrapped around her waist and he could see her bigger stomach now that she was wearing that weird nun dress.

Puck sat down behind her, she didn't even notice. Her eyes were only on his Jewbro, who was watching Mike sing to the piano now. The guy must've really liked Tina, 'cause he sounded like shit.

He looked back at Quinn. "She's special, you know."

A hand flew to her chest and her icy eyes were glaring at him just for a second before she looked back ahead. They were both watching Rachel up on the stage now. Her arms flew around like a tiny hand tornado and Mike just kept nodding.

"What do you want, Puck?" Quinn hissed because she probably wanted him to go away.

He ignored her.

"She was crying that day," Puck mumbled, as he turned to glare at the side of the blonde's face. "It took her forever to calm down. She told me it was allergies but I'm not stupid."

Puck was sure she was rolling her eyes. "Yeah and yet you thought 'trust me' was a proper method of contraception."

His eyes shifted away to the ripped seat beside him because he always remembered a rubber. He'd even brought one with him that night. Puck had done it that drunk before and still used one every time.

He shook his head. "You can treat me like shit all you want 'cause I know I deserve it but Rachel doesn't. She likes you though and you're here so I think—"

"Why are you still here?" she sounded bored, it was kind of scary but he didn't let it stop him.

Because he felt bad, he knew he did and couldn't she see that?

"Because I know I messed up things for you pretty bad and I wanna do right by you," Puck's hands clenched at his sides, Rachel started singing again and Quinn's eyes were on her real fast. "She'll always be there but if you keep fuckin' up it won't be the way you want."

Quinn just sat stone-faced and silent. Rachel had now broken out into song—it sounded kind of Broadway—and his hands unclenched before clenching again.

"That night, I wanted it with you. When you kissed me, it stopped so I thought if we went further everything would be fine again but it wasn't," Puck wasn't sure he heard her right over all the high notes because Quinn was talking to the stage. "I said no but it was only because after a while even you couldn't stop me from imaging you were her."

Puck fists clenched white and he felt like he just guzzled a whole lot of chunky milk; he stood up. Fuck, he never had a chance. The door slammed into the wall, the singing stopped but Puck didn't bother to wait for her.

What's the point?

Quinn Fabray took her away too.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: **_Sorry for the long wait. I was consumed by the playoff fever that lived here in Toronto for the first time in nine long years and then I hit some writer's block. Mostly likely because I was a tiny bit heart broken I think lol. Anyway, I'm not sure how long this fic will go but I assume it will at least stretch the length of the __pregnancy. Unfortunately (maybe only for me) the multiple POVs make it kind of long. _

_Also, I know it is kind of pointless to ask (because the answer will most likely be Brittany) but who would you like to see Santana end up with? I'm partial to anybody but Brittany of course but maybe somebody can convince me. It's (unfortunately) happened before lol._

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

**Forty-Eight  
**

The smell of lilac enveloped her senses the moment Quinn stepped into the bathroom. She inhaled deeply, dimming the lights just a bit as she silently watched Rachel test the temperature of the bath water with a gentle swipe of her fingers.

She felt herself drawn forward, her arms wrapping themselves around that lithe waist without time for second-guessing.

"Quinn?" Rachel said softly, leaning further back into her embrace. "Do you want bubbles?"

Hazel eyes fluttered (once, twice) a few times because this wasn't right, this wasn't… but she found herself just asking for Rachel—_um… no just you_—anyway.

Rachel smiled at the softly whispered words, a rush of affection striking Quinn so suddenly as the tiny brunette tipped her head up until their lips touched. Quinn was an instant (whimpering) mess. She really liked kissing Rachel, just barely managing to salvage some self-respect by stopping her instinctive need to follow those lips when the girl moved away.

Until, Rachel started unbuttoning her blouse.

And this was wrong. Quinn didn't want…the shirt fluttered to the floor and hazel eyes fell to the swell of tan flesh encased in silky blue lace, watching as it seemed to almost glow brighter the more Quinn stood yearning to touch.

But she wouldn't, she didn't want… Quinn stepped closer. Reaching out—watching as her hands deliberately ran over the soft skin covering Rachel's ribs—the breathy moan and the arching of Rachel's back…Quinn was lost.

Her entire world was ablaze, fiery hues and so much heat—just burning and burning, smothering—Quinn wanted… she wanted…

"Ay dios mio, tubbers, I thought birthing a hunk of lard was enough but the loaf in your oven gave you Finnyan's lumberjack snore too?"

Quinn blinked, her eyes so dazed and confused.

She frowned.

Fucking, Santana.

She was kicking the back of her seat again. Quinn had started ignoring her somewhere around Fort Wayne while Sam was still pretending he was Christian Bale in the seat beside her. Quinn remembered wanting to punch him; she couldn't handle anymore of his weird faces and him using his jacket as a cape and then she'd...fallen asleep. Sighing, Quinn's forehead pressed lightly against the window (of Kurt's Escalade) as her eyes took in the boring scenery the I-67 had to offer.

Rachel wasn't there—because of Quinn—that was the only explanation for dreaming of… that. Maybe she missed her a little bit, it was… Quinn gritted her teeth at another sharp kick courtesy of Santana. Quinn was a bitch (to Rachel) and she'd treated her horribly. It would play out in her mind just like the flipbook she'd made in the first grade. Jerky and a little out of sync, her mind just loved to dwell on the brush off she'd received in the bathroom. The blonde had done it enough times to those meathead losers at McKinley to recognize it right away but Rachel practically running away from her made it almost obvious enough for even Finn to piece together.

Sighing, Quinn just kept trying to fight the urge to close her eyes. The sound of the engine, her breathing, the just passable music Kurt had playing low, she was just so tired.

Santana finally stopped kicking once they pulled off the highway. Mike had said Rachel would meet them there but Quinn wasn't so sure. After Puck stormed out, Rachel had looked at her and then went after him. Quinn didn't mean… well, okay, she did have a good idea how he'd react and had no desire to be anywhere near him. Smelling his cologne and hearing his voice when he was trying to be nice, it made her skin crawl.

Because he had been considerate that night—the lack of a condom notwithstanding—and tried making it good for her. He'd been gentle and even attempted some sloppy foreplay. It was why he so easily faded away and she… why Rachel took his place. On some level, she blamed him and Rachel was now holding her accountable for it.

Quinn sighed; she just wasn't used to this.

Finn would just apologize when she was a bitch because he was easily confused and dreamed of fulfilling the fantasies he conjured up with the help of those bimbos on _Skinemax_. Most of the time, she'd just have to offer the possibility and he'd be mumbling apologies and forgetting all about it.

That wouldn't work—hadn't worked—with Rachel though. She required more and the blonde was at loss for exactly what she was expecting. Quinn was sure her baby was responsible for the majority of her tears in the bathroom but she still needed Rachel. She wanted her forgiveness.

"We're here," Kurt's loud squeal pierced the eardrums of everybody in the car.

Quinn was satisfied when he wilted under the collective car wide glare sent his way and unlocked the doors.

Everybody was standing in the parking lot when another car pulled up. Her heart pounded and Quinn gritted her teeth. She didn't like it, what Rachel did to her but then the tiny brunette stepped out of her daddy's Lexus and maybe Quinn did.

"Whoa Berry, nice car."

Santana sauntered by her towards Rachel. Quinn clenched and unclenched her fists because she just didn't understand…that…them. Watching them stand beside each other: Santana looking like Finn did before devouring a pound cake and Rachel looking pleased behind her sunglasses.

Fucking, Santana.

Rachel laughed, as she armed the car's alarm. "Thank you, though I must confess it isn't mine. I find it much safer to borrow my daddy's car then take my motorcycle for such a great distance on the highway."

The girl walked away after that, towards the rest of the group. Quinn swallowed, the image of a motorcycle-riding Rachel flashing through her mind. Tight leather, mused hair, smoky eyes…

"Wait, what?" yelled Santana, Quinn blinked as she was pushed aside so Santana could go after Rachel. "Berry, you best be joking."

She sure hoped not.

Growling, Quinn shook her head and followed behind them.

Kurt and Mercedes were up front, trying to convince them that Dakota Stanley would be coming by any minute. Apparently, Vocal Adrenaline ran practice until five and it was just about ten minutes to.

Quinn didn't care; in her opinion this whole trip was a big waste of time. The club was much too soft for a professional choreographer, he'd eat them alive, much like Rachel predicted. And Quinn did like Glee, maybe a little bit—it was fun and sadly it was the only thing in her life she had left to look forward to—but caring enough to stop them just wasn't in her really.

The tires of a red convertible squealed to a stop next to them, a tall blonde model slinked out to meet one of the seven dwarfs and bent down so he could eat her lips off. Quinn winced; he was making her baby nauseous.

There was a gasp. "Oh my Barbra, Burgundy?"

All eyes were on Rachel, an interesting mixture of surprise and disinterest until Dakota Stanley side stepped his blonde model so he could see.

"You," he pointed his finger, being unattractively shaky and angry. "You and that ginger dancer ruined my life!"

The tennis match continued, as Rachel—no longer shocked—crossed her arms with a huff. "I would've thought your secretary draining your accounts while you were vacationing in Malibu was to blame for your misfortunes."

"Oh Alexa," he sighed, his beady eyes looked almost wistful, while his model just pouted, "my temptress from the mother country."

Rachel frowned. "I'm quite sure you're Jewish. As a matter of fact—"

"Mr. Stanley," Kurt interrupted and he easily slipped in front of Rachel. Quinn's heart pounded at the girl's annoyed eye roll in response. "You're the best and we're in the market for your expertise."

"Absolutely not," the guy shook his head and led his bimbo to the car.

"I happen to agree," Rachel stepped back in front of Kurt, her eyes shining with victory before she turned them on Stanley. "His expertise isn't worth—"

Kurt's hand flew up over Rachel's mouth. The tiny brunette kept mumbling before finally giving up with a huff. Quinn frowned; her baby really didn't like Kurt that much.

"But…but we...we… need you," Tina stuttered and Kurt and Mercedes must've really did a number on her if she was begging for them now.

Stanley ignored her and got into his car, turning to look at them with disinterested eyes.

"I'd usually take your money and torture you until you liked it," he stopped, his eyes boring into Rachel as he pointed and yelled, "but never again."

And then he was speed out of the parking lot, his maroon scarf fluttering to their feet like a cinematic parting shot.

Rachel stood looking annoyed until she realized all their eyes were on her. She opened her mouth and then closed it before Mercedes interrupted.

"Explain."

"Now," Kurt added.

Rachel shrugged before meekly offering, "He was my dance teacher, though I suppose he went by his favourite colour back then."

Quinn sighed as her heart beat picked up speed.


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: Eek, sorry for the long wait. My motivation pretty much disappeared for this fic for a multitude of reasons. I just really needed to take a break from writing in particular but anyways this chapter is probably the longest this fic has ever seen so yay for that lol.**

**I really have no idea on the rules for show choir or how one goes about qualifying their choir for competition. Glee made Invitationals out to be quite pointless so I wanted to do something that gave it a little bit more importance. Hence everything below. I apologize if it is so glaringly wrong that it distracts you from the almost cohesive plot in this chapter. Enjoy!**

**On a sadder note, I just wanted to offer my thoughts and prayers to Cory Monteith's family, friends and especially Lea. Losing somebody to addiction is not easy and in someways its a lot more ****devastating for the people left behind. R.I.P Cory.**

* * *

**Forty-Nine**

Rachel's relationship with her mother was painstakingly maintained over an impressive amount of meals, usually at the same Italian restaurant, as Shelby thought quite highly of their orecchiette. Something that was admittedly rather rare, Rachel had come to learn.

Shelby's family (on her father's side) hailed from a tiny town in Southern Italy and apparently their orecchiette was quite revered. Such a legacy had elevated her mother's standards well higher than Breadstix. Rachel could admit that all the food always looked quite delicious but thus far her inherited heritage had only served in appreciating the surprise of seeing a wide variety of vegan-friendly dishes on the menu.

The heady scent of espresso suddenly filled her senses and a tiny cup materialized before her very eyes. Jesse was quick to grab at his while Rachel (and Shelby both) let the smell permeate a little longer.

Their dinner had been quite enjoyable, certainly far more pleasurable than the entirety of her day thus far. Though, Rachel supposed Mike's improving vocals were something she was capable of positively noting, the rest of it was a horribly convoluted mess with her being burdened with a spot in the middle. It certainly dampened her zeal for celebration quite drastically unfortunately.

"So how is Glee going?" Rachel glanced up at the sound of her mother's voice while she struggled to comprehend her words. "I see you've yet to qualify."

Shelby gazed at her with only interest in her familiar eyes but Rachel found herself lacking the will to answer. That flare that might dare accuse her mother of espionage—and taunt her (and especially Jesse) with the fact they were fearful of their new competition—was thus far non-existent. Thankfully, one could almost always count on Jesse's arrogance to fill most silences though.

"I'm afraid it wouldn't matter regardless if they were able to qualify or not," he said while smirking at her in that insufferable way he always did. "It was clearly irresponsible to put your remarkable talent in the hands of a man that proudly sports an assortment of sweater vests in public."

"Jesse," Shelby's dark eyes cut dangerously towards him and Rachel happily watched him shrink into his chair, "you've just lived through one punishment and you're already pushing for another?"

And predictably Jesse's deliberation was very short on the matter.

"Sorry," he grumbled, before bravely rolling his eyes, only after Shelby looked away of course.

Rachel found it highly amusing—at least momentarily—until the quiet returned to plague her once again. She sighed, her gaze melting into her tiny cup while she began fastening together her best attempts at a formidable answer. The porcelain beneath her fingertips was comfortably warm, as familiar fragments of some of her most well treaded thoughts pushed their way through to the forefront of her mind.

She fiddled with her cup, clinking it against its saucer as she fumbled until she whispered, "I suppose my participation is fairly fleeting in Glee if I'm being honest. I'm finding myself unable to view its recent shortcomings as direly as I once would, which is not to say that I don't care. I imagine I've just reprioritized."

True to form, Jesse looked flabbergasted. Rachel hardly paid him any mind though, as she finally built up the courage to meet her mother's eye. Because music was the defining passion that bound them and Rachel hadn't been truly committed to it for a rather lengthy amount of time.

Not since she'd found Quinn Fabray hiding in a McKinley washroom stall.

"You can't be serious?" Jesse scoffed, his gaze darting towards Shelby and then Rachel until he realized neither were paying any attention to him.

Grumbling, he busied himself with his phone with a roll of his eyes.

Shelby put her cup down, seemingly amused by the two teens in her company but Rachel decided she couldn't possibly be. Vocal Adrenaline was extraordinary under her mother's command—because she didn't dare believe Dakota Stanley was capable of contributing anything worth noting but jazz hands—and Rachel had just indicated that she'd found much more of importance elsewhere.

"Stop pouting, Jesse, I happen to agree with you," said boy looked up, unsurprisingly thrilled by the words while Rachel's heart twisted anxiously in her chest. "I do have to question Will Schuester's merits as an instructor if he leaves something as crucial as qualifying for competition to the last moment."

Brown eyes widened—under Shelby's piercing stare—before Rachel was quickly shaking her head. "While he is admittedly barely passable as a choir instructor, he's quite enthusiastic and though most of his directorial decisions have been abysmal to date, I believe that will improve in time."

The conversation lulled for only a moment before Shelby nodded, looking (annoyingly) amused once again.

"I suppose you're right," she said with a small smile.

Jesse groaned. "That's touching but Rachel Berry our presence is required at the celebration of my faithful return to freedom."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Lovely," she grumbled before Jesse decided to circle the table to helpfully pull out Rachel's chair.

"Well come on, my people await."

He was standing beside her, looking at her expectantly when she didn't immediately follow his orders. She was almost certain one of his groupies had texted him an invitation for intercourse. He was quite like Noah in that regard, well she supposed all boys were. Jesse was just far more charming than the average sex crazed teenaged male.

Still, she decided to oblige him.

Shelby was promptly standing too; Rachel stifled a giggle when her mother coaxed an impatient Jesse into an embrace, being completely entertained by the sight until he finally managed to escape. He was very quickly straightening his leather jacket with a disgruntled frown.

Shelby shook her head before moving on to Rachel. Her mother's arms held her tightly and while she once yearned for that familial link to bind them at every touch, Rachel was comfortable with the hold of somebody that loved her. Shelby broke their embrace when the waitress appeared with the check. Jesse was quick to retrieve Rachel's jacket from the back of her chair and drape it over her shoulders.

"Be careful please," Shelby's tone stopped Jesse's primping in its tracks, "I don't want to hear about either of you driving. Am I clear?"

Jesse rolled his eyes. "Naturally. I wouldn't want you repossessing the Range Rover too."

He then resorted to dragging Rachel out by the arm. She could've broke his hold but she allowed herself to be led out regardless, turning back to wave at her mother before they ventured out the restaurant doors.

"Have fun," Rachel heard Shelby call just as the doors shut behind them.

Thankfully Jesse's car was fairly close to the front door and Freddie Mercury had been rather fond of composing quite lengthy songs in the last few years leading up to his tragic death. It would greatly lessen the amount of _Queen_ she was about to hear to a minimum.

Oddly enough, the late, great singer was Jesse St. James' idol of choice, something that was just sacrilegious when Barbra personified everything it was to step foot on the Broadway stage. They pulled out onto the main road while _Somebody to Love_ melodically funneled through the speakers and Rachel supposed Jesse could do a lot worse, like Noah's fascination with that pro wrestler that frequently bathed himself in beer.

"I'm curious to know why you're letting such a failed performer drive your Glee Club into the ground." Rachel could feel his pretentious stare singe the skin of her cheeks but she refused to give him the satisfaction of her gaze. "Not that it matters, I suppose. I still haven't the faintest clue why you're enrolled in that cesspool anyway."

Rachel sighed, when she felt his eyes flitter away. "Why is it you care, Jesse? Surely you should be more focused on the choirs you actually deem as competition."

"I'm attempting to be courteous," he shrugged before turning to give her that look that was always coupled with a ridiculous smirk. "My therapist gets quite worried when I display any lack of empathic feelings, being orphaned at a young age and all."

"That was unnecessarily grim," she grumbled, as she felt the car slow down the more their destination drew closer.

He laughed and brushed a few wayward curls—that Shelby had dislodged with her earlier embrace—out of his eyes. "Yes, I suppose it was."

Rachel waited in silence as he parked the car and she briefly wondered if maybe Mr. Schuester was somewhat buckling under the same pressure he once did when venturing out to become a star of his own. He rarely offered a direction of his own—in a group that he'd (ironically) named with the promise new ones—and had them partake in that pointless fieldtrip only because Finn had (so misguidedly) suggested it. They only ever practiced one song—a song he had no part in conceiving at all.

Rachel's lip found its way between her teeth, as she followed Jesse out of the car, having him arm—his precious Range Rover's alarm—only after Rachel (very absently) cleared its vicinity.

What she'd told Shelby, she had wholeheartedly believed: that her currently inept choir instructor would improve with experience. Except, it was quite possible Rachel had committed a grave error in judgment when it came to Mr. Schue because experience required the passing of a great amount of time. My Barbra, they hadn't even qualified and the deadline was only a week away!

"Was it horrible in there?"

The high pitch of the question had Rachel blinking her spiraling thoughts away. Jesse had his arms wrapped around the waists of two blondes, their recognizable likeness only lending to the deduction they were most likely related in some fashion.

Jesse had the audacity to wink at her before faking the appearance of a pout for his bottle blondes.

"It was dreadful," Rachel rolled her eyes and wondered if it was socially acceptable to kick Jesse's shin extremely hard with her high heel shoe. "The only thing that got me through was thinking of the two of you."

They walked in through the door and it was certainly amusing to see Jesse being swarmed by the well-wishers he had more than likely insulted more than once. He was a gigantic—once again excuse her French—jackass, though Rachel didn't know how that tidbit of information hadn't been obscenely obvious thus far. The—_welcome back_—banner was a bit much, though its craftsmanship was quite superb. Rachel was curious to know where one would procure such a quality product in case a need arouse in the future, of course.

Jesse was in the midst of a harrowing tale that began with starvation and lead into the yearning for human touch that had all the girls swooning.

Rachel sighed.

Thankfully she'd become quite the expert on the comings and goings of the basic high school party. Typically Noah liked to immerse himself in such depravity at least once a week, so she had a plethora of experience to draw from. He likened her to a 'wingman' of sorts; her job description was not necessarily the usual facilitator for girls but more so making sure he wasn't spending the following morning in a cell. Yes—admittedly—her attempts hadn't been up to snuff as of late but one arrest could hardly be enough of a sample size to fail her completely. Such a thing wouldn't be fair at all.

At any rate, a Vocal Adrenaline get-together was quite different than the cheap beer and bait shop glow sticks found in Lima. It was certainly more in line with a Rachel Berry sanctioned event; the stage off to the left and the sporadic bouts of synchronized dancing could attest to that.

Still, she was going to try her best to stay out of the way, as she didn't feel at all up to mingling. Slipping away from Jesse had been (unsurprisingly) easy and locating a drink had been quite simple as well. She'd ventured into the kitchen and had been handed one actually by a hopeful boy she thanked before disappearing into the crowd.

Now, Rachel felt perfectly content where she was—on such an expensively suede couch—fiddling with the label of her imported beer while watching the movers and shakers on the dance floor. It was surprisingly nice, being the wallflower on the other side of the room. Freely allowing others to sing, not joining in on the dances she quite possibly knew by heart: she supposed that this was what relaxation entailed.

Sighing, Rachel watched a blonde girl twirl into her line of vision. She was tall, her dress was quite strikingly red and her technique was certainly flawless. The beer in Rachel's hands suddenly looked rather enticing.

"You gonna try to pull that, jewbabe?" Noah was there—of course he was—complete with his usual (and moderately sleazy) eyebrow twitching. "I can totally get you an intro."

Rachel glanced back at the blonde girl briefly and decided Noah had probably slept with her at some point in time. It was rather lonely being the only woman he hadn't defiled in Noah Puckerman's long compilation of 'friends' but she was actually quite relieved to see him. After he'd barged out of the auditorium, Rachel's subsequent search had been considerably unsuccessful. He appeared surprisingly sober and injury free; it was honestly all quite confusing. That aside, she was fairly disappointed her night as a wallflower had come to an end.

"Noah, this is a surprise," she sighed and her regularly timed sip of beer turned into something quite larger, thanks to her impeccable lung capacity. "I wasn't aware you were invited."

He smirked. "The Puckster is a plus one."

His head nodded towards the stage where Andrea—the lead female vocalist for Vocal Adrenaline, somebody Jesse deemed important enough to introduce her to after a performance a while ago—was belting out all about how girls just wanted to have fun with a few of her friends. This time the disappointment actually hurt as it tipped her lips into a frown.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I'm surprised."

"Hey, it's not like that," he straightened up, his eyes almost made it convincing but they'd honestly been through this so many times before. He sighed. "Is there something you want to say to me 'cause I know you and there's been something for weeks?"

Rachel's mouth fell open—she had so so much to say—before shaking her head. "I don't, no, but I have the sudden urge to dance."

And she quickly slipped away because what she had to say wouldn't be beneficial at all. He and Quinn were barely co-existing as it was—the effects of today's earlier argument had yet to be seen—so it wouldn't be wise to voice how irresponsible and insensitive he was being in regards to Quinn.

At any rate, the dance floor was quite full, so she hoped to blend in undetected and then—

"Hi, I'm Chrissy." The blonde dancer, she was smiling and was quite beautiful up close. Not as stunning as Quinn but Rachel imagined nobody ever would be in her eyes. "I saw you watching me earlier and—"

"Sorry, babe but me and her gotta talk." Noah was suddenly pulling her away.

Rachel waved at the blonde dancer—she was embarrassed to admit she'd so quickly forgotten her name—before turning around to glare at Noah. "You didn't have to so rudely manhandle me if you wanted to converse with me. I would be more than amicable to a simple request—"

"No, you wouldn't," Noah raised his voice, whether it was to be heard over the music or in anger Rachel really didn't know but she let him pull her in the direction of the stairs. "You'd just talk about something else again until I forgot."

Rachel didn't say anything but yanked her arm out of his hold in protest, though she did still follow him to the top floor. Noah opened doors in search of an empty room—there were a few angry shouts to which Noah answered back just as rudely—but Rachel didn't dare look inside. She'd seen Jesse and his giggling entourage disappear up the stairs not so long ago and her knowledge of Santana's lack of gag reflex was proof enough that certain instances were better left unseen.

Noah ended up leading her into a purple kingdom. The colour was more than an accent; it was the theme of the entire room. At one side of the bed closest to the window was a tea set and small table where Rachel supposed the daily tea parties were held. On the other side stood a magical fort—composed of an old white blanket and two mismatched chairs—that obviously acted as a castle by day and a toy hotel by night. The rest of the room consisted of a toy box, shelves full of books about princes and princesses and a floor littered with toys that never made it back to their rightful place.

Rachel supposed the décor did little to set the mood for sexual intercourse.

The tiny brunette sat on the bed when she realized Noah was planning on loitering in front of the door. She crossed her arms and decided to glare at the door over his shoulder. Rachel was afraid that if she looked at him her verbal filter would just entirely disintegrate.

"You can talk now," Rachel huffed in protest to this cruel (and unusual) punishment. Puck groaned. "Come on, ba…Rachel."

His plight was certainly entertaining, the silence continued to fester between them and her peripherals watched as Noah continued itching the ridiculous strip of hair on top of his head. They also saw how tired he was, she was tired too.

Rachel sighed, as her eyes unsurely met his. She didn't want to hurt him, she never wanted to—

"Noah," she said softly and it effectively had her vocal restraints fracturing with every second that passed. "I prefer not to converse about this right now. I was quite enjoying my night because it was far removed from this topic."

"Well, I think we should. We're not even bros—"

"Noah—"

"Rachel," he said and her breath caught, his stare displayed such a convincing sense of maturity Rachel was quite sure he didn't have.

But they needed to talk about this. Brown eyes fluttered closed and taking a deep breath she forced them back open. The fire in them had him stepping back in surprise.

"To be honest, Noah, were we ever really friends to begin with when you so freely slept with the girl I like?" she laughed and it was such a cruel sound in the face of all the anguish she felt.

Noah's face crumpled and Rachel's followed suit. Why had she said that?

He frowned. "I…I thought you were over that."

Rachel found herself yearning to stand—to scream, kick, yell—just hit him. She was angry, there was a rushing in her ears and for the first time she'd let herself feel it.

She could see him, his giant hands groping and squeezing, thrusting.

He'd…

"Why her?" she screamed, when she vaulted to her feet she noticed he actually looked petrified. "You were aware of how much I liked her and still you…you ruined everything, Noah! Why?"

Sleeping with Quinn hadn't just wrecked the blonde's life but it had broke Rachel too. Standing there amongst all the shade of purple, Rachel realized that their friendship would never be the same. That she wasn't able to fix it because it had been warped into something entirely new.

"What do you want me to do? I'm sorry okay. I know I'm a Lima loser, I know I'm no good so I don't need you telling me too." Rachel jumped, tumbling back onto the bed as Noah's voice ricocheted around the room, bitter and so incredibly sad. "I told you she needed me. She called me but then I find out she only wanted me 'cause she'd knew I'd fuck her even though she was pissed drunk."

"Noah—"

"She always wanted you, Rachel," he turned to look at her with tears in his eyes, "and I don't even like her that much, not really but she's having my kid and I see her and me and the baby… and she doesn't want it."

He looked so completely broken—as he stood there panting with his eyes squeezed shut tight—and she felt the first tear fall, they just continued coming until she brokenly whispered, "I'm sorry."

His eyes snapped open, Rachel held his gaze until she was forced to look away.

"No, I don't want you to be," Noah said quickly and Rachel wasn't aware he'd moved closer until she felt his hands on her shoulders forcing her attention onto him once more. "This is my mess and I got to get used to the way things got to be, 'cause you're my hot Jew and the Puckster mates for life."

Rachel tried desperately to stem the laughter from bubbling up inside her but it was too late. She was laughing, laughing so hard as she continued to cry and then she heard Noah laughing too.

"That's possibly the nicest thing you've ever said to me but so utterly revolting," she gasped through giggles that seemed to not want to stop.

She was trying extremely hard to catch her breath, watching his eyes as they shone with tears but he was still there. The same boy she'd coerced into running scales to determine if his talent was bountiful enough to justify embarking on the path of friendship.

"Babe, the Puckster is all about the nice until its time to get down and—"

"Stop," she held up her hand and he just smirked, thankfully choosing not to continue. Slowly she reached up and touched one of the hands still on her shoulders. "I hope you know that I don't believe you're any of those things about you. You have a lot to offer, Noah."

He didn't say anything but Rachel could tell her words had been the right ones. Things felt wholly the same but still something was slightly different. He stepped away, his hands sliding away from her as he went.

"I'm gonna go 'cause the Puckster doesn't cry," he gestured over his shoulder and Rachel rolled her eyes. He pivoted slightly before his head turned right back. "Things are going to be different, aren't they?"

Rachel had never thought Noah would betray her and then he had. It occurred to her that some friendships wouldn't survive such disloyalty and then she realized that Noah wasn't so much a friend as he was her family.

She smiled. "I believe they are."

He nodded as he turned to open the door and he music suddenly became a whole lot clearer, being muffled again when he pulled the door shut. After such a confrontation, descending down to join the party was exceedingly out of the question. To be honest, Rachel felt the overwhelming urge to just fall asleep but she couldn't very well do so in a child's bedroom.

But, she felt safe being firmly encased in purple, so she slipped her phone out of her pocket to pass the time until she'd be able to safely venture into the next room so she could retrieve Jesse and toss him into a cab.

Her phone had been turned off and the barrage of text messages that greeted her really was quite surprising. Dinner—and the subsequent drive—hadn't been all that long. Yet for some ungodly reason, there was now a queue of messages awaiting her attention.

She quickly scanned through the list, spotting Fiona's name and her subsequent quip about Burgundy's shocking resiliency. Rachel rolled her eyes because he had somehow managed to rise—from his previous life's smothering ashes—as the same (slightly mangled) talentless phoenix.

Rachel skipped over the message from her fathers' and the one from Finn too. Mr. Schuester making the exchanging of contact information mandatory in Glee Club was clearly another attempt to ruin her career. Though Santana's text was surprisingly worthy of noting—if one were to ignore the obvious proposition for sex at the beginning, which Rachel most certainly did—there was a real request (demand) to converse in the future.

Curiosity killed the cat, as they say and… holy Barbra, Quinn.

She'd texted her?

The blonde's name was quite clearly there beside the briefest message she'd received all night.

_Hi._

She had just sent her the shortest greeting—on the lengthy list of greetings—Rachel could recall knowing.

Yes, Quinn Fabray was rather frustrating.

Admittedly, Rachel had freely encouraged Santana by insinuating she was in possession of a motorcycle, doing nothing to stop the slue of flirty propositions that she knew would follow because the tiny Diva had found herself enjoying the Latina's attention. Something Rachel fully regretted in hindsight without the influence of her hurt feelings.

Quinn's apology had been enough for her forgiveness but Rachel supposed… well she supposed she expected more, a gesture of some kind to follow up Quinn's rather redundant explanation.

But a text message, Rachel smiled. Quinn was too nervous to call her on the phone.

Giggling, the tiny brunette quickly formulated a reply.

_One is always more receptive of an apology when it involves baked goods, Quinn. Have a wonderful night._

Rachel suddenly felt a lot more celebratory and it was quite possible she'd only rejoice in a favourable parole date just once in her life. She'd be disappointed if she missed it.

But by Barbra, Quinn was too cute for words.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N:** _I didn't have the time I usually do to reply to reviews so to those I didn't get to I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to review. Enjoy!_

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**Chapter 50**

Puck was on his last lap of after-school torture when Hudson's giant ass went down. It sounded like a flabby meatball being whipped against a wall and man it was gross. But, Puck stopped anyway—turned around—and jogged back to his side. Finn's face was scraped up and he was holding his leg like somebody took a baseball bat to his kneecaps.

Pussy.

Guy seriously looked like he was ready to bawl his eyes out. It wouldn't be the first God damn time.

Puck groaned. "Dude, you better not be crying."

"Shut up, man," Finn turned his face away and he sure sounded like a whiny bitch.

Puck looked around for somebody—anybody—to pass this situation off to. He had his own shit to deal with and—

"Puckerman, hit the showers," Bieste was suddenly there glaring at him like he was the one that took out one of Godzilla's knees, "and you better be in my office afterwards."

He gritted his teeth. "Sure, Coach."

She turned to look down at Hudson looking all worried over his dumb ass leg. "You okay to stand, son?"

Puck rolled his eyes and damn well hightailed it out of there. Everybody loved the fucking golden boy. It was nothing new but today was already filled with too much bullshit.

Stupid Rachel, this was all her fault. He dumped orange juice in his fucking cereal today!

She'd come in with her damn demon eyes and find someway to catch him in her flytrap of feelings, especially last night when they were out full force with an extra helping of tears. This wasn't supposed to happen—he was a mother fucking badass—but of course, something inside him was too damn dumb to get that. It was just like Rachel to sabotage him from the inside out and the room was looking at the heart shaped guy seated in the front row.

"Fuck," his fist collided with the locker room door as his voice bounced around the empty halls.

The door slammed shut behind him and his hand was definitely messed up. He decided to shower anyway and it was totally skill that had him naked in five seconds flat. The ladies loved when the Puckster gave them the one-eyed salute. It had a one hundred percent close rate, no joke.

Puck left his clothes and went to the showers, he liked his water burning hot and it felt so damn good. He was kind of tense. Torture without the ladies would do that to a guy. Sighing, his eyes closed and his thoughts just decided on Andrea.

Her ass jiggling, mouth opened wide, hands moving down…

"Shit," he groaned and he was about to rub one out—man, he totally needed it—when his damn mind changed its thoughts to Quinn.

That night... he thought she'd wanted him. Whimpering and moaning, her nails digging into his skin, panting in his ear…Puck finally remembered that a week ago. He thought he totally rocked her world when she wouldn't even let Hudson's giant ass passed first base and it felt so fucking good.

But, she'd was been thinking of Rachel and Puck didn't mind being used, he just wanted…he…

"Fuck!"

He wiped at his eyes and God damn, Rachel. She did this because he wasn't supposed to be like this…so messed up. Puck had been fine about it until she happened at Fancy Boy's party.

Puck just wanted his fucking shot. His shot at being good at something because he'd be an awesome dad, he fucking knew it but…it wasn't up to him.

Not when he barebacked it and didn't even notice.

Gritting his teeth, he slammed the tap off with his messed up hand—damn that hurt—and ripped a towel off the rack. He looked down and his cock was pretty much limp as fuck.

"Great, just fucking great," he yelled to nobody at all.

Things needed to change right damn now. A guy couldn't be expected to live all moody and shit like he had a damn tampon shoved up his ass.

Groaning, he changed and left for Bieste's office. It was a little hole in the wall tucked away in the furthest part of the locker room. It must have been an old janitor's closet or something because it stank of mold—and those little air freshener Christmas trees—but Bieste seemed fine with the shitty budget Coach Tanaka left her.

"Puckerman," she didn't even look up from whatever she was writing. "Sit."

Puck quickly sat on this creaky chair that really should've been sent to the wood chipper ages ago and just watched her write.

Man, she must be pissed. He scratched at the back of his 'hawk and why the hell was it so freakin' itchy? Damn it!

"How's…uh…Hudson?" he muttered and he sort of did care. Finn was a giant pussy but he wouldn't have cried at school if he could help it.

Bieste dropped her pen and looked up. She had this weird look on her face that Puck really didn't understand. Hudson dropped all by his damn self but Puck was ready to admit to anything to get her to stop looking at him like that.

"Boy's fine," she said with a wave of her hand and Puck sighed when her eyes didn't look so scary focused anymore. Sweet, she didn't think it was him. "Just a few scrapes. This will do good to toughen him up a bit."

Puck snorted. "Yeah, he gets sacked a lot."

Bieste actually smiled or maybe it was like the weird muscle twitches he got after lifting weights. What? His arms didn't get this badass by themselves.

"Listen, I'm gonna get right to it," she said it in that gravely tone she always used when one of them screwed up. "What are your plans for after high school?"

That hot guidance chick asked him that once and he would've totally hit that if she weren't so batshit crazy about germs and stuff. Now she just gives him condoms and those wet napkins they give out at rib joints every time she sees him in the hall.

Puck shrugged. "Don't know."

Bieste looked at him with that super creepy look again. It was like she was seeing through to his insides and damn x-ray vision was his number one most wanted superpower.

"So you've never thought about it?" she said it all 'questiony' and shit.

She was doing that thing old people do when they want you to think about things. They act completely dumb and make you fill them in like they have no common sense at all. She looked really interested though and her lips were pushed together in this way that…wait, Coach was wearing lipstick? Well, she was a chick so it maybe sense he guessed.

And man, he was going to have to play along.

"Yeah sure," Puck admitted, it was no shocker or anything so he added another shrug. "I wanna leave this place just like everybody else."

That scary look was back again and the chair creaked as he tried to get away. Bieste was nodding though so she must've not noticed.

Thank God.

"Then you should think about maybe taking football more seriously," Puck ran his hand over his itchy Mohawk as she just kept going. "Next season is when all the scouts start taking notice and you've got what it takes. I'll help you. All you gotta do is show up."

Well, he couldn't. His life was already fucked up enough and he could hardly make room for all that shit everyday. He had plans; Puck was riding out of town like a lone ranger the minute the jail doors opened. Where did she come off telling him any different?

He stood up. "Thanks but no thanks, Coach. I'm fine on my own."

The woman nodded, which didn't make any sense. Puck expected her to put up more of a fight.

"If you change your mind, you'll be here an hour earlier tomorrow. If not, I guess I was wrong about you."

Puck gladly left her in her broke-ass office, barging into the hall without a look back. He didn't need this shit. That was for damn sure.

Puck just wanted to get the hell out of this place but then he remembered that Schue went crying to Bieste about cutting his torture short so he could still make Glee. Rachel would kill him if he didn't show and he kind of had to go to sing her his song and stuff. He'd practiced it and everything, so he was damn well going to make sure it was worth it.

Rachel was already there flipping through some folder of sheet music in the front row. The hot Goth was there too and so was Quinn in a new nun getup just staring at the back of his Jewbro's head. Puck went to sit beside Rachel and she looked up.

"Noah," she closed her folder and moved it so it was in the very centre of her lap. "How was practice?"

Puck thought about what Bieste said to him—because she believed in him, yeah right—and shrugged. "Your giant stalker fell on his face. It was awesome."

"You very well know Finn is far from a stalker. A little over-exuberant maybe but nothing so nefarious," Rachel huffed and puffed like usual but then—just as quickly—her face was all worried and shit. "He is alright though?"

Puck shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

Rachel knew it was the best she was going to get out of him and just had to make due with her usual eye roll. Puck didn't mind, he hadn't told her half of things Hudson had said about her so he couldn't really say anything about her being worried. It just would've hurt her feelings; his Jewbro was classy and stuff. She wouldn't like it.

"Fine," she sighed with a quick wave of her hand, "but I hope you know I now fully expect your song to be exceptional."

Puck smirked; he wouldn't have it any other way.

Schue walked in, looking like somebody kicked him in the ball sack, so Hudson must've bailed and went home. Man, the guy really wanted to give it to Finn's ass—probably already had.

Puck shivered and Rachel looked at him so he just shrugged until she went back to paying attention to Schue as he wrote something on the board.

Invitationals.

That seemed kind of late, Puck was sure they were supposed to sing or whatever ages ago. He met Andrea when Vocal Adrenaline was doing theirs so…man, they were totally going to suck.

Schue turned back around to talk to them when his Jewbro popped up from her seat. She looked really crazy in the same way she always got before singing. Puck knew it well but learned just to go with it because the ladies fucking ate up anything Rachel made him sing.

"Mr. Schuester, if I may?" Puck snorted because she didn't really care what Schue said and just kept talking. "It's wonderful that you brought up Invitationals because as you know the deadline is fast approaching and our set list is harrowingly one song short. I've taken the liberty of compiling a list of songs that I think would be perfect for—"

"Oh hells to the no," Mercedes busted her way in, waving her hand through the air. "If anything I'm picking the song with the best solo for yours truly."

"Yes, " Kurt's eyes cut in with a really nasty look at his girl, "Mercedes and I will be perfectly fine picking out a song for a duet."

The girl glared at him before grumbling out that she agreed. It was kind of weird but then there was this damn crunching behind him that had his totally distracted. Wait, where the hell did Santana get popcorn? He motioned for her to give him some and she hissed at him like a damn rattlesnake. Puck quickly turned back to the front—fucking crazy ass bitch—all he wanted was some damn popcorn.

And great, his Jewbro was standing in front of him coiled right up like a really tiny snake too. She obviously didn't like the gruesome twosome's idea. Dude, that was awesome. He should totally copyright that shit.

Rachel just started shaking her head pretty hard—she was like a primed grenade—and Schue was busy staring at an empty chair. "Absolutely not. Neither of you have my training or expertise at performing in front of an audience, which isn't taking into account the time constraints we are under—"

"We're just as good as you, white girl," Mercedes again, waving her arms around trying for spicy and only getting original recipe. Fuck he was hungry—damn Santana. "Just because—"

"Please refrain from interrupting me while I'm speaking. It's incredibly rude and entirely disrespectful." Rachel yelled and it had Puck at the ready for any in coming danger until Santana dropped her popcorn in his lap.

She still looked really super hungry but Puck was keeping the damn popcorn while she stared at his Jewbro like she was…

Oh.

That was so hot and then he saw Quinn was seconds away from murder... yum. Puck shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

"Rachel, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, maybe we can listen to my assignment first?" Damn it, Schue. How could he do this? Oh right, he liked (Hudson's) dick instead of chicks. "I'm sure Mercedes and Kurt didn't mean to interrupt you."

"I'm sure you're right," Rachel huffed with a slight nod.

His jewbro sat back down and Puck was ready to tell the asshole off—because nobody was getting away with that not after everything—when Rachel looked at him and shook her head. He was going to ask why she was taking this shit when Santana leaned down and snatched her popcorn back. Puck turned to take it form her—but remembered the hissing and the repeated threats against his junk—and quickly decided it wasn't worth it. Schue was going on about something that Puck didn't care about and without any food he was totally game to sleep through it anyway.

Then he remembered his song.

His eyes snapped open and Schue was still prancing around but whatever. Puck wouldn't mean to interrupt him, so it wouldn't matter.

"I got a song to sing."

Puck stood up and walked in front of him, taking Rachel's lead. Schue only looked mad for a minute and then he was just tickled pink at the idea.

Great.

"Wonderful, the floor is yours," he waved his hand towards the piano—which, yeah right—before skipping off to Finn's chair. "Oh, I'll expect everybody's assignment to be completed for tomorrow. Rachel, if you could tell Finn."

She looked like she was going to be sick before barely managing a nod. "Of course, Mr. Schuester."

Quinn looked ready to cut a bitch, though Puck thought it was kind of her default setting. Shaking his head, Puck strapped on a guitar winking at Rachel as he started to play.

"So no one told you life was going to be this way…"


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: **_I had an anonymous review that actually made me laugh. Usually they're kind of scathing and really a waste of time to read, I'm sure this person was really trying for that but... anyway it never occurred to me how long this fic has actually been online. Mostly because I've only been writing it for a year and a bit in total. For those of you that remember there was a pretty lengthy hiatus in between that I decided to just label my fanfic retirement. Glee had just murdered my lovely Rachel and well... I reacted how any fan would: trolling petition websites to get this new Rachel banished to the shadow realm... along with Ryan Murphy, since he clearly didn't care for my efforts at all._

_Anyway, the point of this is I wanted to specially thank those that have stuck around from the very beginning and shared in my journey through the five stages a grief. And for those of you that missed it, you should be really glad you did lol._

_Enjoy :)_

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**Chapter 51**

Quinn felt like an idiot. Puck was singing his stupid theme song and Rachel was smiling, she never smiled like that for her. Quinn just woke up early this morning to make cupcakes and…

Well, whatever.

Puck could sing his stupid theme song and Rachel could smile at him like Barbra Streisand had descended down from the rafters of Central Perk. Quinn glared at his (stupid) dumb face until it disappeared. Unfortunately, it was only so he could sit down.

Why did she ever let that idiot touch her?

_Rachel on top of Santana, eyes dark, lip-gloss sticky and smudged…_

Quinn glanced over at the Latina—watching her eyes just leisurely drink Rachel in—and growled lowly as her fingernails dug into the plastic of her chair. Santana was smirking at her and that bitch wasn't getting away with—

"Quinn, are you alright?"

Hazel eyes fluttered and there was Rachel looking perfect…perfectly worried actually. Her heart pounded, it was practically rattling her ribcage. Quinn straightened up in her chair—briefly wondering where exactly everyone had gone—before her gaze settled on Rachel's sweater memorializing sailboats. It was absolutely atrocious but on Rachel… it was kind of cute.

Sort of.

"I…I'm fine," she mumbled but sounding like a fool just wasn't acceptable so she added, "So you're talking to me now?"

Quinn was aware she was being bitchy (and slightly unreasonable) but she didn't like being ignored. And after Rachel had blown her off in the washroom that's exactly what happened. For an entire week, all she got were these long looks in the halls.

But Rachel was sitting beside her and her eyes were sparkling—just the way Quinn liked—so maybe that was over with now. Quinn sure hoped so; vegan baking was kind of a bitch and Quinn could maybe admit she kind of missed Rachel too.

The tiny Diva shyly glanced down at her hands clasped in her lap—and Quinn's heart beat a little faster—before those eyes were looking at her again. "I suppose that's fair. I just wanted to thank you for the delicious cupcakes that were mysteriously placed on my desk and awaiting my arrival to English this morning."

"It's not a big deal, Rachel," Quinn grumbled because she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

Rachel was smiling (at her) like a beaming beckon for million dollar yachts and she was going to cry. Quinn just barely sniffed back the first onslaught of tears but then wide (lying) brown eyes became all too visible and she just…

"Oh my, Barbra," Rachel screeched, which was the usual Rachel Berry reaction before a slue of words tumbled out, "maybe it would be best if you choose to omit whatever it was that I—"

"I'm horrible to you and you're so nice to me," cried Quinn, stopping Rachel's anxiety in its tracks.

In fact the tiny brunette was smiling (again) just so completely amused by Quinn's hormonal breakdown. She couldn't believe the other girl was just laughing at… Rachel drew some tissue from places unknown and handed it to her.

Quinn quickly took them, slighted feelings forgotten.

Rachel's hands fell back into her lap. "I can assure you that your behaviour towards me could be exceedingly worse and I care about you, Quinn. I can't foresee anything changing that."

She felt warm and her heart just as enthusiastically picked up speed. God, her baby made her so easy.

"Okay," she mumbled, sniffing occasionally as she just continued cleaning up her face.

It wasn't too bad.

Waterproof mascara was her saving grace.

Suddenly, Rachel was standing, giving her (another) smile and a tiny shrug. "Well, I suppose I should go. I've planned a few hours of personal time, since it's been quite scarce lately. I'll see you tomorrow, Quinn."

Rachel was leaving and Quinn bit her lip, realizing she didn't want the girl to go. She just…

"Wait," Quinn called, awkwardly vaulting from her seat as if it were on fire. "I…um… does this mean that we're… you forgive me?"

Dear Lord, what was Rachel doing to her? She sounded like a freaking moron.

The tiny girl turned back and this smile, it was one Quinn had never seen before. Usually the brunette smiled so wide the sun went down but now it was softer—more genuine as it glowed—making Quinn's breath catch painfully in her chest.

Rachel giggled. "I can't deny that I was quite charmed by your gesture, so I suppose I have."

She turned to leave and Quinn was still standing there staring at her like an idiot. She just wanted…

Growling, Quinn strode towards Rachel, catching her by the wrist right before she opened the door. Their eyes locked in a tempestuous swirl of brown and Quinn could feel Rachel's breath teasing her lips—again and again—and she…

"Would you perhaps be interested in accompanying me for ice cream?" the tiny brunette asked before blinding her retinas with the usual attack by grin.

They were back to that smile—Quinn thought petulantly—and when she'd been seconds away from…

It didn't matter.

Rachel was looking at her with those sparkling eyes, so she tried not to care too much when the girl backed away.

"Sure, I guess," Quinn mumbled and went to go grab her purse from where she left it beside her chair.

Rachel (naturally) led their way out.

The walk toward Rachel's car was comfortably quiet. The halls were virtually empty, except for the creepy janitor who always whistled _The Star Spangled Banner_ as he mopped. Quinn was sure there was something wrong with him.

Fresh air hit her lungs while Rachel skipped on ahead to the car. Quinn wasn't huge (yet) but her feet weren't used to catering around so much extra weight. They throbbed all the damn time and there would definitely be no skipping out of her anytime soon... or ever.

Quinn looked up and Rachel was holding the door open for her with that smile back on her face. She smelt like cupcakes and hazel eyes fluttered shut as she slid into the car, sighing softly until the door was gently shut.

She wanted… God, she wanted…

"Quinn, are you—"

And she couldn't take it anymore.

Darting forward, Quinn finally took exactly what she wanted. She devoured Rachel's mouth—so greedy and so hungry—her entire body was tingly and… oh God. Quinn tore her lips away and Rachel's eyes fluttered open, looking up into worried hazel eyes before leaning in until their lips touched once again.

"You can kiss me if you want to," Rachel whispered and Quinn could just feel the girl smiling at the slight whimper that managed to escape through the blonde's lips.

God, that was embarrassing but she couldn't care about that right now, not when Rachel was so eagerly opening her mouth because Quinn requested it.

The touch of their tongues spurred her to pull the tiny girl closer, yanking the cotton in her hands before just deciding to bypass it altogether. Underneath, tan skin was so warm and the toned stomach twitching at Quinn's touch was just so good. She felt her conscious mind fading; things were getting hazier and hazier; her skin burned with every touch. It was… she just…Quinn pulled herself away; gasping as air finally filled her lungs.

"God, Rach…Rachel…I'm…" Quinn whispered, panting breathlessly against Rachel's lips to try to catch her breath.

The brunette leaned in to press their mouths back together, barely brushing against Quinn's lips, before pulling away.

"Don't apologize," the Diva stated, her voice seemed deafening in such a confined space as Quinn expertly avoided eye contact. "I've forgiven you, Quinn and I know that for whatever reason you enjoy these occasional intimate moments between us as much as I do, so it would be foolish to deny either of us that."

Quinn blinked and finally turned to glance at the other girl. Rachel was already looking at her (of course) her head tilted to the side with her brow (cutely) weirdly furrowed. Quinn just wanted to reach out and… she cleared her throat and silently cursed herself for being so shy.

"Sure, that makes sense," she mumbled and she saw Rachel clap her hands together because it was slightly too insane (even for Rachel) to pat herself on the back.

Quinn watched her start the car and loud music was suddenly abusing her ear canal. Rachel turned it off too quickly for Quinn to figure out if she knew the song or not.

"I apologize," Rachel started talking way too quickly to be normal, seeming almost nervous. "Jes… my friend is quite taken with Freddie Mercury and it occurred to me last night that New Directions would sound quite wonderful covering one of his songs for Invitationals."

Quinn felt her eyebrow rise because while that was probably all true, Rachel was apparently quite the liar by omission. And Quinn wanted to know, Rachel might even tell her if she asked but…

"Which song?" she mumbled, noting Rachel's surprised eyes, just as Quinn's phone started to buzz inside her purse.

The blonde reached for it and following Finn's last text message—w_ent home &_ _my_ _mom tinks I'm 2 sck to pick u up. sorys luv u_—was another one.

Three words that turned her blood cold.

_I'm cuming over._

Shit.

She glanced over at Rachel and she was actually really looking forward to whatever this was. Her baby had already decided that it really (really) wanted ice cream the moment it was promised and Quinn, she just… she just really (really) wanted to spend time with Rachel.

And that was… not happening.

Her eyes closed briefly before fluttering back open with their usual hard sheen. She texted Finn back before turning to look at Rachel, Quinn could already see the disappointment all over the tiny brunette's face.

"I suppose we'll have to postpone?" the girl said softly with another smile. This one was small, reserved—resigned.

Quinn felt awful but she nodded anyway. "Finn invited himself over and I can't leave him with my parents so…"

"It's alright, you don't need to explain, Quinn," Rachel waved it off before shifting the car into drive with a small sigh. "I completely understand, I suppose I was just already looking forward to our outing is all."

Quinn smiled, her heart beat (again) quickening in her chest.

"Me too," she whispered, though Quinn wasn't sure if Rachel heard her because the brunette was leaning over to the radio and turning the sound up.

"I've yet to choose a song but I've narrowed it down to three," she explained, Quinn suspected she'd be waving her arms around like a crazy person if she wasn't driving. "I must get your opinion before you leave."

Quinn nodded and let the music wash over her. She supposed she owed Rachel that much. The tiny Diva was bopping her head to the instrumental part in _Bohemian Rhapsody _and Quinn wanted to kiss her. But she wasn't about to pounce on the girl—and mount her right there on Main Street—the moment they yielded for a stop sign.

Her baby could just deal with it.

The rest of the ride was driven in silence with Quinn ultimately deciding that Somebody_ to Love_ would be a real crowd pleaser somewhere near the end. When they pulled alongside the curb in front of her house, Quinn breathed a sigh of relief at the fact that Finn's truck wasn't immediately in sight… until she saw it rattling its way down the street.

Damn it.

Quinn glanced at Rachel before getting out of the car. He was basically stomping his way towards her in minutes and Quinn's eyes fluttered closed. She knew what this was.

"Tell me right now, is it true? Is it?" he screamed and his face was trying for fuming mad, as he towered over her just looking really constipated again.

But his eyes, they looked so betrayed and the angry red scratches on his chin just helped sell his overly sad package. Quinn realized that she'd really managed to hurt him.

"Yes," she whispered and it was obvious that he really wanted to believe it wasn't true, as he swiped at the tears in his eyes.

It had only been eight days, most of them she'd alternated between berating everything about him and a flat out ignorance of him entirely. He couldn't be that heartbroken and Quinn looked at him—his hunched over shoulders, teary eyes and red face—he was embarrassed.

"How could you do this to me?" he cried and his narrowed eyes just made them look beady and wet. "How could you lie?"

Quinn's stomach churned, she was a horrible person. She managed to emasculate him without a second thought and he probably still thought he loved her too.

"Finn…" her voiced trailed off in a weak breath of air as she watched his whole body start to shake.

Normally, he'd kick a chair and be done with it but the only object close by was… well, her. Quinn cradled her stomach and instinctively took a step back.

"You better not be thinking about kicking my car, Finn Hudson because I'll be forced to resort to violent measures if that were the case."

Rachel.

Quinn watched Finn's entire body straighten up from the sad sack it had been before. He even puffed out his chest and she just wanted to punch his stomach so he'd deflate like the inflatable tube he was.

"Rach," he trailed off and scratched the back of his head. "Do you live close by?"

Quinn scoffed and Finn turned to glare at her, suddenly remembering that he was here to bitch her out for bruising his gigantic ego.

"You," he stuck his finger in her face, "you lied! I looked it up. You can't get pregnant from… from…" he glanced at Rachel and then back at her, "what happened."

God, why did she feel bad? Finn Hudson was a giant jackass. She couldn't even…Quinn froze—no, no, no—the porch light did not just turn on.

"Finn, please," she turned her fearful eyes onto Finn, pleading with him to just listen. "Can we talk about this—"

"No!" Finn was screaming again and Quinn glared at him, trying to get him to shut up. She could only hope her parents were already passed out cold. "You cheated on me and you lied..."

Rachel's eyes were staring nervously at the front porch and Quinn now regretted not giving Rachel a chance even more. "Finn—"

"No, Rach," he was shaking his head and stomping his feet like the giant man-child he was. "I thought I was going to be a dad! I even picked out a name!"

Quinn groaned, rolling her eyes at the utter ridiculousness of this moment. "It was one week, Finn, honestly—"

"No, why are you trying to hurt me?" he yelled again and Quinn didn't understand why Rachel looked terrified while Finn just kept talking. "I mean, don't you care that—"

"I think that's enough son."

"Mr. Fabray…" Finn gasped, the boy's eyes darting to hers and he almost seemed apologetic.

Well, it was a little too late for that, dumbass.

Her gaze found Rachel's, as she clenched the fabric of her dress tightly in her fist.


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: **_This has been sitting around for the past week on bits of paper and Starbucks napkins (__à la __J.K. Rowling) and I just now had time to type it up. Enjoy :)_

* * *

**Fifty-Two**

Rachel had the (dis)pleasure of being the only one to see Mr. Fabray step out on to the front porch somewhere in the middle of Finn's tantrum. Her reaction was one of complete (and utter) terror, gasping as her eyes zeroed in on the tumbler—two fingers full of Bourbon—he had clasped in his fat fist.

"I think that's enough son," he hissed, rough and dirty thanks to the single malt raging through his veins.

It stopped Finn's whining in its tracks, the boy only managed to needlessly identify Quinn's father before remaining quiet completely.

Rachel could see Quinn was terrified—and it was quite hard to resist her innate urge to go to her—until the blonde finally broke their eye contact. Hazel eyes (bravely) turned to face her father and Mr. Fabray matched her stare with a look so hauntingly familiar. Quinn might resemble her mother in every way but her eyes, her mannerisms, they were all of her father's making.

"Daddy…" Quinn said softly and she stood right there cradling her stomach until he made his move.

The wait was relatively short.

"Inside now," he spat, his glare cutting over to a teetering Finn before settling back in on Quinn. "Him too."

Mr. Fabray stomped back into the house—yelling for his wife as he went—and Rachel swallowed down the dread lodged painfully against her windpipe. Her lungs inhaled as much of the cool night air as they could handle until the need to exhale was immediate. Breathing exercises were always her go to method to prepare for potentially volatile situations and Rachel suspected venturing into the Fabray home would be just that.

Finn made this odd croaking noise before practically whimpering, "I'm really sorry. Man, I'm really—"

"Finn, I'm quite sure that isn't at all helpful right now," sighed Rachel as she watched him continue to act as if he were seconds away from knocking on heaven's door. "Could you perhaps give me a moment to speak with Quinn privately?"

Finn looked confused for a moment—rubbing the back of his neck in deep thought—before he nodded.

"Um… okay," he grumbled and then (surprisingly) he listened without much delay, just choosing to wander aimlessly in the direction of the house.

Rachel frowned.

Dealing with Finn was honestly quite perplexing but then Quinn was looking at her and Finn's most recent blunder quickly became rather lackluster in comparison. Hazel eyes were just so shimmery and brown and it was suddenly exceedingly obvious to Rachel that her previous (breathing) preparations were all for not. The pain and longing hit her in a wave, festering low in her stomach until it bottomed out.

"I suppose you're trying to determine the best way to sufficiently explain why you don't want me to accompany you inside," her voice was unusually soft, but it was still almost bellowing into the night. "May I… may I at least inquire as to why?"

Quinn looked away—over her shoulder towards the house across the street—biting her lip with every anxious breath until she whispered, "I can't, not with you there."

Rachel supposed it was possible to request some type of clarification—in this instance such a thing would definitely not be out of place—but Rachel knew Quinn's reaction wouldn't be at all helpful in terms of explanation.

The blonde—for the most part—was barely hanging on. Courtesy of Finn Hudson, the boy currently casing the outside of the Fabray home for any open windows that could double as emergency exits in a pinch.

Still, Rachel forced a smile to light up her face. "May I remain outside just in case?"

Quinn nodded before walking towards her house, disappearing inside of it with a sickly looking Finn in tow. The tiny brunette stood there for only a moment longer until her phone beeped in her hand.

_It'll be fine._

Rachel highly doubted it but she appreciated Quinn's attempt to convince her all the same. Her thumb grazed over the many tiny bejeweled rhinestones protecting her phone from harm until she just ended up clenching the mobile device tightly in her fist.

She'd known it would be difficult. Noah had always told her that pretty girls took the most effort to woo—in much cruder language involving (excuse her French) bitches and sticking it in—but Rachel had always taken it to heart.

Quinn was the prettiest girl she ever met but she was a lot more than that. They didn't exactly have the most amicable of histories—so it was relatively easy to brush such adoring thoughts away—but she'd always yearned for Quinn Fabray in some way.

Sighing, Rachel wrapped her arms around her waist, shivering at the gust of wind mercilessly crawling up her back. It had her slipping into the car in search of shelter from the cold mere seconds later, turning the key in the ignition and settling in as it suddenly became distinctively warmer.

Brown eyes flittered up towards the Fabray home with its pearly white brick and atrocious lion head décor. It certainly stood just a tiny bit taller than the rest of the houses on the street, casting its vast shadow accordingly. It was somewhat worrisome that Quinn was alone to face the personification of such a house in flesh and blood with only Finn Hudson's rusty old shield to hide behind.

Rachel glanced down at her phone—_It'll be fine_—and sighed, her gaze then flickered back towards the house.

Finn hadn't pondered any of the foreseeable outcomes before coming over—however inconceivable it might be, considering their current situation was fairly close to (if not already) toping such a list—and more than that his strength was only ever present when he had numbers. Still, he was a good guy at heart—maybe a little tactless and somewhat foolish but certainly not horrible by any means—yet that still didn't change the fact that their current predicament was almost entirely his fault.

Sighing, Rachel looked back down at her phone. Unlike Finn, she'd planned for this—during the time she'd unofficially adopted a customary paranormal 'expert' sleep cycle—and was quickly typing out text message.

_I'm afraid I'm going to require you to move your belongings to the basement as soon as possible. _

And (rightfully so) it didn't take Noah long to reply to her after such a message.

_u __my Jew n evryting bt yr basements kinda weird…_

Rachel rolled her eyes, as she tried to decipher whatever it was he was trying to convey. Much like his ridiculous nicknames for her, he insisted on texting like an illiterate fool as well. She suspected it was because it bothered her quite a lot.

And by Barbra, he was insulting the Oscar room!

_There is nothing wrong with a fully functioning Oscar room, Noah. One needs the proper ambiance to suitably witness such an iconic event! Daddy even decorated the corresponding bedroom in honor of the magnificent gown Barbra wore to the 1968 Oscars to celebrate her win for—_

Rachel quickly erased her—succinctly composed and completely justified—message with a small shake of her head. Her love for Barbra had (rightfully) unfortunately got the best of her.

She glanced back towards the house before typing a new message.

_Quinn is most likely getting kicked out, Noah. She'll have nowhere else to go, so you'll have to make due._

There was a short delay, as Rachel imagined she'd surprised him with her news. It was worse case scenario but quite honestly the probability was just too great to believe it wasn't anything but true.

_b der in 5 mins_

Brown eyes widened—as she had just expected confirmation that he was carrying out her request—before she was quickly typing away.

_No, Noah. That's not a good idea. Finn's already here and you know you and Quinn are still at odds._

Honestly, Rachel was beginning to think that all men had very little sense but then she quickly scolded herself. Noah was probably feeling awful after reading her message—more than likely too busy blaming himself to extend their correspondence further—but she couldn't worry about that just yet.

Not when Quinn was making her way down the steps of the Fabray front porch, Finn lugging the blonde's bags in behind her.

Rachel stepped out of the car moving closer until Quinn was only an arm's length away. She seemed almost catatonic with her red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks on her cheeks. Rachel wanted to touch her but Finn lumbered in from behind them and dropped the bags at his feet.

He immediately looked at Quinn, his eyes searching out her (disturbingly) blank ones. Finn seemed genuinely remorseful, though Rachel suspected anybody would be in a situation such as this.

"I'm really sorry, Quinn. I didn't mean to," he rambled, just teetering away beside them. "I was just mad, you know? I was kinda over-reactive and stuff and I…I'm just really sorry and I know that—"

"Finn, I apologize for interrupting but maybe you should attempt to speak to Quinn later." Rachel glanced at Quinn and her hazel eyes were staring blankly at the wheel well of her daddy's car. "I think it would be best if she perhaps gets some rest, so if you could assist me in placing her bags in my car, I'd be most grateful."

"But you aren't friends," Finn frowned, looking between she and Quinn with a dubious (and awkward) look upon his face. "I know she lied and everything but I'm really sorry and I think this will show her that I am and it would be okay if she stayed with me, 'cause she likes me and stuff."

Rachel wasn't entirely sure he was completely serious but Finn rarely displayed much in ways of humour, intentionally of course. It appeared he actually believed that Rachel had come across them on a leisurely walk around the block. She briefly wondered how an educational system—that pledged to leave no child behind—could explain Finn and then she felt tremendously guilty for even entertaining such a nasty thought.

"Shut up, Finn."

Rachel blinked, as she stared at Quinn whose three word brush off was followed by her getting inside Rachel's car without even so much as a glance back.

"I'm sorry, Finn," Rachel whispered, smiling sadly. "Maybe you'll see better results with time."

Finn nodded before sulking off to his truck. She was obviously upset on his behalf but his feelings being hurt would have to be left off her list of priorities at the moment. She had far more important things to worry about and—after fainting in front of Santana—Rachel gathered it would just have to be that way unfortunately.

Glancing down at her feet, she sighed. Thankfully, she possessed a deceptively strong upper body. Noah had worked proper weight training it into her daily exercise regiment back when she was of the belief that _Survivor_ was a stellar idea.

It also helped that the bags were unusually light. She'd have to deal with that later but for now, Rachel was carefully placing them in the trunk before quickly making her way into the car.

Quinn was staring out the window at the home she was no longer welcome in. Rachel sought desperately through her vast vocabulary for the correct words to say but ultimately came up empty. Tragically, Rachel usually did in situations such as this. When Noah's dad had left, Rachel sat beside him eating Oreos and failing abysmally to rescue the Princess from that odd-looking turtle dragon. Glancing at Quinn, Rachel imagined she wouldn't appreciate Luigi's peril quite as much as Noah.

Her lip found its way between her teeth, as she started the car, maneuvering it down the street without much warning. Quinn didn't seem to mind, hazel eyes just continued to watch the houses as they passed.

The drive to her house was relatively short. Traffic in Lima was pretty light after five o'clock, since most people worked in the bigger metropolitan areas and had commuted to their homes by now.

The sun was just about to set—dusk was almost upon them—and Rachel was finally turning her daddy's car into the Berry driveway. They sat idle for only a moment and then the vehicle was off. She looked over at Quinn—watching the blonde so blankly stare at her house—before hesitantly reaching her arm out to clasp Quinn's hand. Rachel was ready for any of the predictable backlash for her impulsiveness but it didn't come.

Quinn entwined their fingers instead.

Rachel let out a barely audible gasp because quite honestly she hadn't expected that, well maybe in her wildest dreams but the tiny Diva was fairly sure Barbra wasn't currently seated in the back of her father's Lexus. Brown eyes flittered over behind her just to make sure—in case her sixth sense was momentarily Barbra immune after the shock of Quinn's unexpected touch—when the blonde started squeezing her hand.

"He just kicked me out," Quinn whispered brokenly.

Hazel eyes were pressed closed, wrinkling her forehead and her perfect nose, causing another bout of impulsiveness to wreak havoc on Rachel's will once again. The tiny Diva was just barely able to reel her desperate need to touch in.

"I know," Rachel gripped Quinn's hand tighter in an attempt to offer some type of tactile support, "but you're always welcome here, Quinn. For as long as you choose to stay."

The blonde showed no sign that she'd heard her at all—and it was greatly discouraging—but Rachel supposed Quinn was never known for showing much in ways of apparent emotion. Though, she always believed that the girl felt things so much more deeply, it was quite astounding really that it took the hormonal fluxes of pregnancy for Rachel to finally witness such proof.

_I didn't know you'd…I thought… You left breakfast for me, even though…I'm so sorry, Rachel. I…_

"Thank you," Quinn said softly and Rachel blinked—feeling Quinn pull her hand out of her own—then hearing the car door open and close.

The tiny Diva quickly scrambled after her, finally catching up just in time to open the front door.

Once they were both in, she fiddled with the door for a moment longer—until it was shut and securely locked to ward off any lurking cat burglars—before turning back to Quinn. The blonde was staring at her with an unreadable expression but then she blinked and only tired sadness remained.

"Can I get you something?" Rachel blurted out in a blatant attempt to fill the silence that always managed to fray every last one of her nerves. "Juice, water, some type of baked good?"

Quinn shook her head. "No, thanks."

Silence again.

Rachel bit her lip and Quinn looked away to pay extra special attention to a family photo on display in the entryway. It was of a young Shelby holding Rachel in the delivery room, a picture her daddy had always taken credit for. Yes, her dads may not have been thrilled by Shelby's early reappearance in their lives but they'd made every attempt to appear supportive (on Rachel's behalf) regardless.

And Rachel would always appreciate such a gesture.

Quinn's lips twitched and her hands started to running along her stomach in small circles before she focused her eyes back on Rachel. But before she could ask, Rachel beat her to it.

"I'll show you to your room," she said quickly, as Shelby was certainly not a topic she felt like getting in to.

Thankfully, Quinn seemed to be in an amicable mood and allowed her sloppy attempts at evasion to pass with a small nod.

The guest room was decorated with unassuming lavender walls, a colour her dad decided on after spraining his ankle and spending his days in front of the television watching daytime HGTV. The furniture appeared sometime after he was back on his feet and able to attend the garage sale down the street. She and Noah were then tasked to paint it the perfect colour of cream as punishment for dousing the house in water during a spirited battle of the Super Soaker variety. Pale purple flowers covered a white duvet and Rachel was happy to see Noah at least managed to change the sheets. He'd brought his own black ones to add (what she assumed he believed was) testosterone back into the room.

Rachel (internally) rolled her eyes.

Quinn walked over and sat daintily on top of the bed, leaving the singer to awkwardly linger near the door. As one could imagine, mocking Noah was far easier than her current circumstances, there (alone) with Quinn Fabray. But (by Barbra) Rachel wasn't one to be intimidated in any situation and she was ready to march forward and maybe… well she wasn't exactly sure quite yet but she figured it wouldn't be hard to divine on her way.

Right?

Rachel suddenly wasn't so sure but she wasn't about to—

"She didn't do anything. She just refilled her wine glass when I begged her to…" Quinn gasped and her breathing wavered into an utterly broken sob, stopping Rachel's racing thoughts in their tracks, as hazel eyes continued to stare ahead at the _Starry Night_ replica her dad had also insisted on putting on the wall. "All I wanted was for them to understand."

Rachel's feet quickly carried her towards the bed, as she sat beside Quinn and took her hand. "I'm not quite sure but perhaps they do and their reaction was one that was encouraged by fear."

"They don't love me, Rachel," Quinn laughed, it was eerily hollow and sent shivers clawing up Rachel's spine. "They just love what my accomplishments could do for them."

Rachel frowned.

She was most definitely struggling in her attempts to even locate the shoe rack that housed Quinn's shoes because—even at their (most recent) lowest—her fathers would never afford her the awful experience necessary to completely comprehend Quinn in this moment.

"I'm sorry," she offered and Rachel meant it.

She was quite well adept at empathizing with other people's plight, even if she almost always had no understanding of it at all. The difference was that with Quinn, she yearned to know everything.

The blonde shook her head, her eyes finally meeting Rachel's, as they managed to embody her very own starry night.

"I'm not," Quinn mumbled and again Rachel was left with a handful of useless question marks until (finally) something she recognized flashed through those hazel eyes.

Before Rachel could act, Quinn mouth was upon hers. Lips against lips, bruising and so soft; Quinn was undoubtedly talented with her tongue and Rachel quite enjoyed letting the wet muscle roam freely wherever it pleased. Except, emotions were most definitely running high and Quinn had just been so severely let down. It wouldn't be right, Rachel knew but (by Barbra) Quinn was making it quite difficult to be chivalrous.

Still, she tried pulling away but Quinn's hands quickly tangled their way through her brown locks, yanking her back closer with an unintelligible mumble against her lips. Rachel gripped the blonde's shoulders, giving into the kiss as pale hands fumbled down her body, so suddenly tugging Rachel's shirt free to slip underneath and caress her abdominals with delicate fingertips.

Rachel gasped—while Quinn's hands continued to roam—and the blonde finally broke the kiss, panting heavily while Rachel just looked on with what was perhaps a completely dazed look on her face. Chest heaving, lips bruised and eyes wild: Quinn Fabray was gorgeous and the tiny brunette's fingers slowly came up to run across the blonde's kiss swollen lips.

Quinn was on top of her, their legs laced together while hands continued tracing the contours of her stomach and it was utterly wonderful. Rachel leaned forward, removing the tips of her fingers, she pressed their lips back together. The blonde's lips were so soft, moving gently against hers and one of them sighed, the kiss deepening, tongues tangling as they held one another close.

Rachel shifted her attention to the blonde's neck, lavishing it with a few kisses until her lips just barely brushed against the delicate shell of the blonde's ear. Quinn gasped, her nails scratching at the skin of the tiny brunette's hips and Rachel paused momentarily to smirk at the blonde's reaction.

She was quick to take the earlobe into her mouth, sucking gently and flicking her tongue against the fleshy lobe. Quinn whimpered, bucking her hips forward against Rachel's thigh and the tiny Diva was merciless in her assault, again and again until her teeth bit down gently.

The blonde jerked on top of her and let out a loud moan until she flopped down, panting in Rachel's arms. Brown eyes widened before she smiled and held Quinn more securely in her arms.

"Oh God," Quinn mumbled and Rachel could almost feel the heat of her blushing face against the skin of her neck. "I…this can't be happening."

Rachel giggled and Quinn looked up to glare at her, quieting the tiny brunette so effectively Rachel was readily shaking her head in hopes of placating Quinn, who looked about ready to murder her.

"I most definitely wasn't laughing at you Quinn. In fact, it's quite common for pregnant women to orgasm—"

Quinn groaned. "Just please stop talking."

Rachel didn't dare giggle again—while Quinn was being delightfully cute—but reached over to move some of the blonde's hair from her face, curling it around her ear. She imagined her latest feat of hardly touching Quinn Fabray and bringing her to release had her confidence steadily rising.

"I suppose we can just rest then," she offered with a small smile until she remembered this wasn't necessarily her bed. "If you'd like me to stay that is. If not I can—"

"Turn around, Rachel," Quinn sighed and the tiny brunette was quick to follow orders, basically letting the girl position her anyway she pleased.

Rachel held on tighter when she realized Quinn just wanted to be held, though she was absolutely tickled pink to be allowed the bigger title. Looking down at the blonde in her arms, she realized Quinn was quickly becoming very important to her. It was oddly thrilling and so very terrifying all the same. She supposed it truly was indescribable and that—for somebody as loquacious as she was—was just plain facetious.

Sighing, Rachel let her eyes fall shut and focused on Quinn: her heat, her smell, her…and of course her phone decided to take that moment to come to life in her pocket. Rachel's heart beat faster; as she felt Quinn's slow due to exhaustion. Thankfully, she'd silenced it after conversing with Noah earlier.

Messages.

There were fifteen in total—all texts—thirteen were from Finn. Mostly poorly written apologies she was supposed to relay to Quinn until halfway through he started asking her to define a whole slue of different words. She didn't necessarily care as to why at this point but she'd write out the definitions for him sometime tomorrow.

Then there was one from Santana threatening her with some type of candy bar if they didn't talk tomorrow. That she did reply to and promised they would, if only to placate her before the Latina's lack of patience turned her overly vindictive.

And then Jesse (harrowingly) sent only a web address. She dared to click on it and for the most part she wished she hadn't. Because her multiple karaoke performances at Jesse's party had gone viral, especially their duet.

By Barbra, they'd even named them St. Berry.

Rachel suddenly felt nauseous. Her and Jesse, the very thought was utterly revolting and she doubted her new fan site had escaped Kurt and Mercedes' attention.

Hazel eyes suddenly fluttered open and Quinn shifted in her arms, "I can hear you thinking. Stop being weird."

"I suppose I can," she mumbled, though Rachel didn't exactly see how she could.

But Quinn hummed in agreement and the blonde's new position had her basically sprawled on top of the tiny Diva under the covers. Listening to Quinn's even breathing—basking in the warmth and wildflowers of Quinn's perfume—Rachel was asleep in mere minutes.


	53. Chapter 53

**Fifty-Three**

_Hey, sexy._

It was how all the best messages Puck had ever gotten started off. He'd just give them some line about needing them and be nailing the chick in the back of his truck an hour later. He'd been ignoring most of his regulars though—fuck, he hadn't had sex in months, Puck didn't count getting his tip wet in that Lauren chick—but this message, it wasn't like that.

It wasn't some desperate Cheerio or Finn's mom—yeah, Puck hit that, oh yeah he did—it was Andrea. She never texted him before, not that he was blowing up her phone or anything either. It was just… well Puck was kind of hoping she forgot about him.

Because, he was still so hot for her.

Like a lot.

It was hard—like a fucking steel bar—to remember he couldn't have her. Her ass jiggling, mouth opened wide, hands moving down…

"Fuck," Puck groaned, as he stared at the sparkly ceiling of his new big gay room. He wasn't being mean or anything; you could probably see his new goldish digs from Mars.

It didn't matter though because he could feel that tingly feeling in his hand right before he rubbed one out. It was there and she was calling him sexy and…cookies. He needed lots and lots of cookies: chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, those white chocolate ones with the weird sounding nuts in them.

Any cookies.

Sighing, Puck rolled over so his feet were touching the floor, running his hands over his 'hawk before standing. Because he'd brought Quinn's bag upstairs earlier and jacking off after what he heard her tell his Jewbro—s_he didn't do anything. She just refilled her wine glass when I begged her to… all I wanted was for them to understand. "They don't love me, Rachel,t hey just love what my accomplishments could do for them_—was kind of a shitty thing to do.

Like really fucking shitty, so...

There was this weird ass cookie jar shaped like an evil rooster in the Berry kitchen. The thing was fuckin' creepy—with its lazy eye and giant beak—but Rachel put all the good cookies in there, so Puck would have to risk it…with his eyes closed.

What?

He was still a fuckin' badass. He could smash that thing anytime, though the Berry dads probably wouldn't be too down with it. They made it on their first date or something gross like that. Because—Puck glanced at the thing and it was totally glaring at him with its lesser lazy eye—who keeps a deformed chicken to remember their first date by?

Definitely not this guy.

That was for damn sure.

Shaking his head, Puck turned back around and focused on the cookies. Chocolate chip…yes please; Rachel baked these herself and his Jewbro was a killer baker.

He continued on towards the kitchen table, shoving as much cookie in his mouth as possible and leaving a trail of crumbs behind him. Maybe a glass of milk would find its way to him by following them—if he was lucky.

Puck was on his fifth cookie when he decided he really wasn't (that lucky) not when Quinn appeared in the kitchen too. He almost would've been happier if that damn demon chicken came alive to kill them all when she looked at him with laser beams for eyes.

"Quinn," he mumbled because his mouth was still jammed full.

Lasers turned into beams of disgust so that was something. Dude, she was even a man-eater with a beach ball under her t-shirt. He tilted his head and it was kind of hot, that little extra…

Shit.

Back to laser beams. Abort, abort, agent compromised, agent… was fucking choking. Luckily (only a little) a glass of milk was just suddenly there in front of him—thank you, God—and he guzzled about half of it down with a happy sigh. It found him just in time; it was—

"You're completely disgusting," Quinn scoffed, grossed out beams back on.

She was standing like five feet away with a milk carton and…oh. The Puckster doesn't get embarrassed though ladies. He smirked instead, wiggling his eyebrows for his awesome badass look.

"Hey, babe," Laser beams, laser beams, "uh...Quinn…you don't have to pretend. You know the Puckasaurus turns you on."

Her eyes rolled before they were back to feeling like tiny little fireballs of death. "You do remember our conversation? The one where I told you, you didn't do anything for me at all?"

Puck clenched his fists—_I said no but it was only because after a while even you couldn't stop me from imaging you were her—_and he didn't care (much) it wasn't like he wasn't used to it. Everybody thought he was good for nothing, Quinn just liked to tear into him with it all the damn time. It was cool, he liked a babe that was straight up, and the Puckster wasn't into disappointing the ladies.

"Sure, babe," he shrugged and he made sure to smirk because he knew it pissed her off. "You know, I've been thinking. Our kid needs a name for after you push it out. Jackie Daniels, would be awesome, right?"

Puck looked at her and, yeah, she was age against the machine mad. It was what she expected from him but sometimes it really sucked because, man, he was an asshole. Just like his old man, using his kid to win a fight was his favourite go to move.

"You're an idiot," Quinn growled and it was now—maybe he should think about leaving to keep breathing—mad. Making her mad… yeah kind of a bad idea.

Then she started walking away and he jumped up. There was something in him calling out for her and it was warm and bubbly and made him feel a little seasick. It didn't have a name or anything like that. He didn't really care because he knew what it wasn't, had known since the night his dad left.

And it was totally not badass but…

"Wait," he called, she (shocker) stopped but didn't turn around. "Listen, everything… it's kind of on me and it's not your fault and—"

"Stop," she held up her hand and turned around. There was fire in her eyes but it wasn't burning him, so maybe there was finally a Puck-friendly kind. "I told you not to apologize. I don't want to hear it because this is my fault too."

"But—"

"I brought you over, I told you I wanted it too," she gritted her teeth like it pained her to say it, "but this," she gestured down to her stomach, "her. You told me to trust you and I did…clearly I shouldn't have."

Puck was sure that meant he should be sorry. She trusted him and…well he didn't give a fuck at the time. He was drunk and just wanted to get it in…he'd forgot all about the rubber. Now, he kind of wished he could do it all over again…

He frowned. "So then I should be sorry…"

"No, you shouldn't because I can't forgive you," Quinn looked down and it almost looked like she had to force her eyes back up. "Not for that."

She was walking away and Puck didn't stop her this time. He kind of did this to himself, right? It wouldn't be cool to bother her anymore. He looked down at his fist and there was cookie and chocolate all over his hand.

Great, just fucking great. Things needed to change, right damn now. Puck knew they did, he just...he grabbed his phone from his pocket—with the hand that wasn't yummy—and maybe decided that he had something to do.


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N:** _So I probably need to apologize on behalf of my computer Charles, who finally decided life wasn't worth living anymore and took all my files with him in his last hateful act of spite. But thankfully, I was able to replace him with a shiny new (yet to be named) laptop and managed to throw this together in the last couple days. So just a quick thank you to all those that contacted me during Charles' untimely demise. I really appreciated all the kind words of encouragement, even if my iPhone made it way too complicated to try to reply... and that's all I got._

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

**Fifty-Four**

Glee Club was pretty much a lost cause at this point. Schue was always showing up late and everybody else always had something to say instead of picking up his slack. Quinn would be more inclined to care, if being pregnant didn't absolutely suck. Her feet hurt all the damn time, if her back wasn't throbbing in pain because she was so freaking enormous. Being blindsided with cravings for pickles and Jolly Ranchers was just a ball and her bladder retained fluids about as well as a used water balloon.

Yes, lugging around a tiny human in her uterus was complete torture but Quinn had come to realize maybe it was somewhat worth it. Hazel eyes fluttered down—finding a set of pale hands already nestled against her womb—and sometimes, it felt like the baby was a part of her; like she knew how Quinn was feeling and she felt that way too just because she cared about her.

It made her feel the same way Finn did—when he used to look at her with his ridiculously moony eyes—and him loving her had been nice—_like an entire football stadium had their eyes on her every move_—it was just that the baby made her feel so much more than that.

Somehow, it was just…

"Quinn, are you feeling all right?" Rachel's voice trilled from beside her and Quinn was almost thankful for the sudden distraction from her weird attachment to something she was planning on giving away as soon as possible.

Only almost because it was hard to forget being ignored all morning by Rachel so the brunette could keep texting some random on her phone. Still, Quinn couldn't help giving the girl her attention anyway, especially since Rachel had managed to wear something normal today. Her dress was all wispy white (polka dotted) fabric—just dripping down over her tan skin, slipping softly over her breasts with a red belt clenching it all together around her waist—and it definitely wasn't hideous at all. Yes, even with all the polka dots and Quinn was sure her face was pathetically flushed.

God, her baby was ruining her.

Ever since, the brunette had made her… Jesus, this was so embarrassing. Quinn glanced down at her bloated body with a sigh. She could only hope Rachel wouldn't ever find out about what she'd just done or the fact that her panties were now uncomfortably damp.

She was just so horny all the damn time and now Rachel looked two seconds away from rushing her to the emergency room. Quinn just managed a nod—offering a smile when Rachel didn't seem to believe her—before hazel eyes darted somewhere far far away from those (lying) brown eyes. Unfortunately, skidding right into Finn's hopeful gaze and Quinn certainly believed in karmic retribution now.

His fat face was even fatter—because he was doing that stupid constipated smirk he did when he wanted to be smooth—and waving at her with his entire arm only proved he was a giant moron. He looked like an obese walrus doing tricks for food.

It was obvious that her text message—_No and if you try to talk to me again you'll regret it_—had been too complicated for his tiny brain to comprehend. Sure, she didn't necessarily blame him—Quinn was sure he didn't actually mean to let the entire neighbourhood know of her knocked up status—but it didn't mean she had to give him and his disgusting cologne the time of day. She regretted the lie that let him stomp back into her life everyday because… her eyes couldn't help being drawn back to that somewhere far far away and—

"Hey, guys," Schue came strolling in and tossed his bag on top of the piano. Finn's limbs stopped flailing and her baby suddenly didn't hate Schue as much. "Glad you could make it."

"You too, Mr. Sch..schue," and that was Tina obviously.

The streaks in her hair were purple today and that was neat. Quinn frowned; she really needed to get out of there.

"Now, I've officially set our Invitationals date for Thursday because we're not quite ready yet," Schue turned to look at all of them like he was expecting them to disagree, which obviously wasn't going to happen. "The rules say we need to sing two songs to be qualified for competition but we only have one..."

Quinn rolled her eyes and tuned out the rest. Why was Coach Sylvester even wasting her time on him? He wasn't at all a worthwhile opponent, unless she hated him for how much he sucked. She could hear Puck snoring for goodness sake. He was somewhere behind her. Quinn didn't care so much about where but finally telling him off, it made it easier to stomach him being around.

Santana started muttering something in Spanish and Schue was staring hopefully at her stupid ex-boyfriend so he must've wrapped his speech up. But then Rachel was hiding a grin behind her hand and what the hell was that?

Quinn's fists clenched, as she eyed the Latina who had somehow slithered in to the seat to Rachel's right without her knowledge. Stomach churning, her nails dug in— indenting crescent shaped moons into her palms—and then she was growling right there in the choir room.

Santana heard her and offered a wave and oh no she didn't just… tan fingers tangled through Quinn's (not so) impenetrable grip and then suddenly, Rachel was jumping to her feet, leaving hazel eyes staring at her lazy fist, wondering if it had all been a figment of her imagination.

Her baffled mind forgot all about Santana, Rachel was now winking at her—with her (lying) brown eyes—and maybe it actually happened. The sudden cool temperature of her hand certainly seemed to think so when it was scorching hot just seconds ago.

"Mr. Schue, if I may," Schue just managed a nod and Quinn blinked away her confusion as her eyes (unsurprisingly) felt the need to track Rachel's every move. "In preparation of this moment, I've assembled the sheet music for the perfect song to fit our purposes. I've also taken the liberty of making sure there is choreography to accompany it so you needn't worry about that."

A stack of paper hit the side of her head before thumping in her lap. "Ay dios mio, Tubbers. Your lizard baby might've given you froggy powers but sleeping with your eyes open is fuckin' creepy."

"Fuck off, Santana," she hissed before tossing Rachel's sheet music over her purse—that sat in the empty seat beside her—and right at Finn.

The Latina just cackled in her usual demonic way and Quinn was going to say more. Actually, between Finn and Santana, she wasn't sure who she wanted to kill the most.

"Oh hell to the no," Mercedes yelled, waving her sheet music around. "I ain't singing just one damn note. All this right here, she ain't no Kelly Rowland."

Quinn glanced down at the music and her heart fluttered. _Somebody to Love. _The song she'd chosen…only it was different. Rachel must've created an arrangement better suited for the singers in the club. Quinn knew something like that wasn't exactly an easy task and she wondered when the brunette had found the time to complete it.

Rachel huffed with a blatant roll of her eyes. "Mercedes, you can't possibly be—"

"Save it, white girl," she waved her arms through the air in a clear act of dismissal. "Talk to me when you didn't just give yourself another one of my solos."

Schue was just blissfully standing there like a used piece of furniture and any goodwill he'd earned with his late arrival earlier was gone now. Her baby was back to hating him and holding her hormonally hostage, urging her to come to Rachel's defense.

And she wanted to; she was going to until her moron of an ex-boyfriend opened his mouth. "I like it, Rach. We should totally do it."

Then (predictably) Schue jumped in.

"I agree with Finn, guys, but to make it fair I'll pick the leads." Quinn shook her head as Schue glanced at Finn, clearly having made the stipulation for him. "I'll let everybody know my decision tomorrow and then we can start on ironing out the chorography."

Rachel's face morphed into something angry at the news. Quinn supposed she was worried about losing her solo, though she doubted Schue was stupid enough to see to that.

Still, the brunette was shaking her head—looking (cutely) disgruntled—as she took in a deep breath. "Mr. Schue, I highly doubt that's necessary, especially when—"

"My decision's final, Rachel," he sounded annoyed, Quinn had to stem the urge to add him to her to be murdered list. "I'll see everybody tomorrow."

Quinn's brow furrowed when the brunette's eyes glanced up to the back row. She was able to turn just in time to spot Mike's shrug and subtle shake of his head. Quinn heard Rachel sigh and then the girl was back beside her gathering her things to leave.

"Quinn," Rachel was looking up at her with a smile and suddenly she was uncomfortable again very quickly. "Are you sure you're all right? I know you aren't necessarily the most talkative at the best of times but you've been so quiet."

Quinn needed a deep breath and she kept looking into those (lying) brown eyes—as they sparkled in that way she liked—and maybe they weren't being dishonest at all.

"I'm fine," she sighed and Quinn just needed to ask, she was allowed to now, "but maybe we could—"

"Quinn, can we talk?"

And there was Finn, who had obviously decided that it was the perfect time to waddle on over to her chair to try to apologize again. Even the weight of her giant kankles weren't enough to stop her from kicking his junk until it was black and blue.

"I'll meet you outside, okay Quinn?" Rachel touched her arm, Quinn imagined it was supposed to be encouraging and then she was gone.

Leaving her with Finn and his stupid hopeful face. Luckily, being pregnant and kissing Rachel pretty much sealed her ticket to Hell, so carrying out his murder would only upgrade her to a window seat.

He caught her looking at him and straightened up with a sheepish grin. "I know you said to leave you alone but I couldn't because then you wouldn't know I mean it for real and I'm trying really hard…"

His voice started to blend together, his lips continued to move but hazel eyes were zeroed in on the two brunettes at the door. Quinn couldn't hear them—their conversation was nothing but a rapid fire of hisses and soft whispers—and then Santana was pulling Rachel out of the room.

Growling, Quinn followed after them. That bitch was going to learn how to keep her hands to herself.

"Wait, where are you going?" Finn cried and she could hear him stumbling behind her.

Quinn ignored him.

They stepped into the hall and Rachel and Santana were up ahead. Rachel was saying something and trying to pull out of the girl's grip. Quinn gritted her teeth and pressed forward—with nothing on her mind but making Santana pay—when she was pulled to a complete stop. Hazel eyes narrowed in on the large hand cradling her wrist and it quickly went away.

"Sorry, " Finn mumbled. "I just…we were talking and I—what the hell?"

Quinn was suddenly shivering and she could see nothing but blue. It took her a minute to reach up to wipe her eyes and then she knew.

She'd been slushied and by the way Finn was yelling, he'd been too.

Amizo and Karofsky were standing there surrounded by the football team. They were all pointing and laughing at Finn while he screamed at them stained icy blue. She was just collateral damage but it didn't make it feel any better.

God, she was cold.

"What the hell, Karofsky?" she growled and the boy stopped laughing, glancing at her for the first time.

She couldn't really read his look through the ice in her eyes but it didn't matter. Her hand was suddenly warm and she was being dragged away, leaving the footballers free to keep taunting Finn.

Quinn only dared to look up from their joined hands when the bathroom door slammed shut. Rachel was looking at her with a small frown and her eyes were definitely not filled with sparkles and lies.

She turned away. "I don't need your help, Rachel. You can go now."

The brunette scoffed and tugged her closer to the sink. Quinn went willingly, found herself pushed into a chair, hearing the water turn on. Tears welled up in her eyes, as Rachel gently sifted her fingers through her hair, absently humming a tune that Quinn couldn't quite place.

Vanilla surrounded her and those tears slipped down her cheeks. Rachel just kept on humming though—as a mixture of suds and slushie spiraled down the drain—until the water turned off. Quinn opened her eyes, seeing nothing but Rachel and she wanted…wanted so much to…

Suddenly, Rachel was pushing her up—the towel now draped precariously around her neck—and the brunette was smiling that small shy smile that Quinn had only had the opportunity to love once before. Rachel reached out to wipe some of the water dripping down Quinn's forehead and the blonde realized she probably looked horrible. Rachel would probably never want to kiss her again, now that she'd been slushied and was weighed down by the girl's best friend's baby in her uterus.

Why did she ever let him near her?

_Rachel on top of Santana, eyes dark, lip-gloss sticky and smudged…_

Quinn sighed because every time she asked herself that question it just lead to her torturing herself. Sadly, it was probably why she continued to ask it.

"Do you want me to drive you home, Quinn?" the girl said it so softly—so unlike Rachel at all—that Quinn knew she really did look horrific.

She finally looked up into those brown eyes and then suddenly the tears wouldn't stop. There were flashes and Rachel in this very bathroom, rinsing a rainbow of slush from her face, humming that same sad song.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Quinn kept saying it over and over again, even when she felt herself being drawn into Rachel's arms.

She was a horrible person.

Rachel slowly pulled away, smiling softly when Quinn finally managed to meet her eyes. "I hope you stay, Quinn and show them how amazingly brave you are."

She felt Rachel's lips lightly brush against hers and Quinn's eyes fluttered closed, her mouth opening in a hushed plea for their tongues to meet. God, did she want this and she leaned closer, the barely there softness turning into tongues eagerly sliding, slipping, tangling together. Quinn finally broke the kiss, many minutes later, to catch her breath, rolling her eyes when Rachel seemed barely winded.

"I'll stay," she whispered into the depths of the second floor girl's washroom.

Not exactly the most appealing make-out spot. She supposed it was at least better than the washroom next to the gym.

Rachel curled a lock of her hair behind her ear with that smile and Quinn wanted those lips again, wanted to feel them against her own, wanted…she tore her gaze away from temptation and those brown eyes were waiting for her. Drawing her in just as effortlessly as that smile did and it was just Rachel. Everything about Rachel, Quinn wanted it.

She had feelings for Rachel.

Oh, God.

"Quinn," Rachel said softly, brushing more of her slightly damp hair away from her eyes. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Quinn just smiled, again barely managing a nod when Rachel didn't seem to believe her.

She felt like she was floating.


End file.
